


If This Is To End In Fire

by CreatorOfDimensions



Series: The Northern Cold [2]
Category: The Northern Cold
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-13 13:11:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 78,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12984777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreatorOfDimensions/pseuds/CreatorOfDimensions
Summary: A childhood friendship rekindles against all odds when recovering addict Frode runs into his old neighbour Terje, a recently divorced farrier. When their old friendship evolves into a volatile love-affair, Terje pressures Frode to keep their relationship a secret. Unwilling to come out to his conservative family, his ex-wife and his young children, Terje goes to extremes to ensure Frode's silence. But when Frode gets arrested on suspicion of a series of violent animal killings, he needs to choose between outing Terje by revealing his alibi, or standing trial for a series of crimes he did not commit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More about From The Heights, If This Is To End In Fire and The Northern Cold series on http://thenortherncold.tumblr.com  
> © Stein Lysander Mazee 2016

Waiting for his ride to the psychiatric clinic in the narrow hallway of his cabin, Frode aimlessly rifled through his overnight bag. He couldn't make up his mind about what he needed to pack; concentration slipped away like water between his fingers. After he overdosed on Friday night, his mother's wish that he check himself in at the local hospital made sense, but the prospect of signing over his freedom and autonomy to an unknown shrink left him feeling scared and unhinged.

Espen watched him, hovering in the doorway to the living room. ‘You want me to come with?’

Frode shook his head. ‘I'd rather say goodbye here.’

His little brother gave good, firm hugs considering his ongoing recovery from the accident. Frode tried not to squeeze him too tightly, watching out for his newly healed shoulder and back, and instead brushed frizzy curls out of his face and beard.

He held Espen at an arm's length and studied the details of his face to remember him the way he looked right now. A week from now, Espen would no longer be a teenager. As usual, Frode would not be there for his birthday. ‘When I get out of the hospital I'll start making it up to you.'

‘I’m counting on it. I want you home for Christmas.'  

Frode masked his anxiety for Espen's sake when their mother arrived, and got into her car without any outward hesitation. The old lady from across the road stared after them from her porch.

Under the dark, overcast sky, years’ worth of filth stained the once light concrete under the roof and windows of the hospital black. An ambulance drove up to the ER entrance with flashing lights but no sirens. Uncertain dread overwhelmed him while his mother parked the car. He shouldn’t be at a hospital. That’s where all his troubles started; watching over Espen at the university hospital in Oslo after the accident, he’d had his first relapse.

Frode’s gaze darted from the dismal building to the parking lot. He didn't want to be locked up here. He didn't want to be drugged or forced to lay himself bare so some doctor could attempt to fix the broken parts of him.

With shaking hands, he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. This was not going to happen.

He crossed the parking lot and broke into a run, weaving through the parked cars and floundering through the banks of snow. His mother called after him through the door he left ajar. To escape her line of sight, he bolted for the copse of trees behind the hospital. Pervasive denial fuelled him as he ran on legs still shaky from what he'd done to his body with a near-fatal cocktail of alcohol and benzodiazepine. Somehow, he made it up the steep path.

The trees did not provide cover for long before he happened upon the road. He stopped to think, bracing against a small, snow-crusted tree. If he circled behind the Maihaugen museum he could stick to the cover of trees and make his way back to his cabin, about seven kilometres from here up the mountain. In theory. Out of breath and pouring with sweat, he already felt like puking from exhaustion. 

Catching a bus at the train station had a better chance of success. Once he got back home, he could sit his family down and explain why this was not a solution. Putting up the hood of his parka to hide his unmistakable red hair and beard, he headed down into town in the opposite direction of his house.

Waiting for the bus while a train pulled into the station at his back, he didn't immediately notice the two police officers that halted in front of him. A jolt of adrenalin coursed through his system when he looked up and noticed the emblems on their navy Ushanka hats.

‘Frode Stedjeberg? Your mother called us because she's worried about you.’

‘I'm alright, thanks,’ Frode heard himself say. ‘I was just going home. I'll call her when I get there.’

‘She said you need to come to the hospital. They're waiting for you, and your mother has all your things there.’

Frode impulsively patted his pockets, realising he'd left his bag with his phone and wallet in her car. ‘I changed my mind about the hospital.’

‘Listen, Frode. With what your mother told us, it seems like the best choice for you. How about we take you there?’ One of the officers reached for his arm to steer him towards their patrol car.

‘No.’ Frode pulled his arm out of reach and walked away from them. He broke into a run when they followed, but didn't make it very far before the officers caught up and dragged him down. He felt his fist connect to a face, and then a shoulder, before they wrestled him to the pavement. Facedown on the wet, cold stone he cursed them to hell and back as they cuffed him in front of a crowd of commuters spilling out of the station's main entrance.

After a brief ride in the back of their patrol car, they hauled him out at the police station. Frode resisted them again with every ounce of strength he had left. If they threw him into a cell now, he’d be all out of options. Locked away with only his thoughts for company, he wouldn’t make it through the night. The officers subdued him as easily as before. They let him take out his powerless anger on the inside of a heavy, steel door.

He didn’t sleep that night. He only barely registered other people in the cell block yelling for him to cool it as he cycled through trying to break himself out with his bare hands, raging against the entire world for hours on end, and finally, howling with grief, guilt and regret.

The next day, he was brought in front of a judge and had to watch his mother and Espen petition her to have a detention order issued for him. Seeing their sad, tired faces drained the leftover resistance that he'd clung to in holding from him on the spot.

When the door of the psychiatry ward locked behind him, he finally gave himself over to the talks and the medication, anything that promised to make things better in the long run. Anything that would help him bear his own existence. Anything that would stop him from stifling the sound of Daniel's name against his cold pillow in the dark.

 

*******

Fresh snow crunched under Terje’s boots, lighting up the dark hours before dawn where it reflected the diffuse light of the lamps outside the barn. The horses whickered at him in the dark, eager for breakfast. Feeding them used to be one of the kids' daily chores, but since they hadn’t been back to the farm after they moved out with Mia, Terje had to pick up the slack.  

Up on the loft, where he separated slabs of hay from a bale and pushed them down the hatches, his phone went off. It kept buzzing insistently in the pocket of his coveralls until he picked up.

‘Terje, hey! It’s going to be a good day for riding trails,’ Elise said.

Knowing how busy Elise was, her ongoing attempts to get him out of his post-divorce slump and distract him surprised Terje. It made him wish he could be better company right now.

‘I dunno. Juventus hasn’t got snow shoes on yet, and I still need to plough the damn yard before you can even think of driving that trailer up here.’ 

‘You'll have time to do that before I come pick you up. I'll be there at nine-thirty.’

It was useless to resist when Elise got something into her head. Terje climbed down the ladder and made his way to the house to have a quick breakfast before changing Juventus’ shoes to suit the weather and driving the tractor up and down the farm yard. He was still halfway through pulling his riding breeches on over his thermal underwear when he heard the engine of Elise’s Range Rover through his open bedroom window.

Elise didn’t get out of the car, so Terje quickly fetched his horse and bundled him into the trailer next to Elise’s big pony Jigsaw. The piebald greeted Terje by nosing the pockets of his wax coat in the confines of the trailer.

‘Great day for riding trails, huh? Terje repeated to Elise as he got into the passenger seat and warmed his hands on the heating. ‘It's bloody cold.’ 

Elise looked up from her phone and put the car into gear. ‘Hashtag no days off. How are you?’ 

Buckling up, Terje shrugged. ‘It's been weird. I spend a lot of confused moments staring at empty beds in the mornings.’

Elise bit her lip. ‘That’s got to hurt.’

‘The house doesn’t look like home anymore with all their stuff gone. I should piece their rooms back together for when they come over again, but I don’t know where to begin.’

‘Maybe just ask them what they want?’

‘If I ever get to speak to them again.’

Elise delicately cleared her throat. ‘So, what reason did Mia give for wanting to get divorced, anyway? I mean, I’ve got a vague idea...’

‘That she met another man. She seemed pretty shocked when I said I already knew about him - and her previous two affairs.’

‘Why didn't you ever say something?’

‘Because it was my own damn fault. She was missing something I wasn't giving her, and I found it bloody convenient that these other guys were doing that for me.’

‘But aren't you angry?’         

‘With myself, yeah. It was stupid to expect her to stay.’

‘Well, I think it's stupid that Mia didn't have any understanding for how hard you've always worked for your family.’ 

Terje sighed. ‘Don't get me started. I'm so goddamned tired, Elise.’

Elise pulled into a half-full parking lot, taking up two back to back spaces with her car and trailer. They got some looks from cross-country skiers gearing up as they got out of the car. Ignoring them, Elise opened the tailgate of the trailer, and laughed.

‘Oh my god, I've never seen that horse look so ratty!’

Terje defensively crossed his arms. ‘He gets cold when I shave him.’    

Elise kept laughing as she untied Jigsaw, though she spared Juventus an affectionate scratch.

‘You know what, I'm not even going to defend my choices to a grown woman who still rides a pony,’ Terje grumbled as they saddled up.

They plodded along the trail on horseback. Juventus’ snorts and bird calls were the only sounds filling the woods around them. Through the treetops, the winter sun touched their faces. Terje gradually let go of some of the tension in his shoulders.

‘How's this?’ Elise inquired.

‘Beats sitting around at home, worrying.’   

‘What are you worried about? I thought the divorce was settled?’

‘I wish. I actually have no idea how to buy Mia out of the farm. We put pretty much all our money into the business.’ 

Elise made a sympathetic sound, but said nothing. She had no idea what it was like to worry about money.

‘My brother and his wife are coming over for dinner tonight. I hope I can find a way to persuade them to invest for Asbjørn’s sake.’

‘What if they don't?’

‘I don't want to think about that right now,’ Terje snapped. ‘If I have to give up the farm, I'll have lost everything. My family, my home, my animals...’

‘Your horses could come stay with us. I have room for three more.’

Lost in thought, Terje didn't acknowledge her offer. ‘I promised that kid a future. Asbjørn wants to be a dairy farmer more than anything.’    

‘Let's hope your brother has the same future in mind for him, then.’ Elise shielded her eyes with a hand. ‘Race you to the intersection.’

With an imperceptible nudge, she spurred Jigsaw to a canter. Seeing the piebald take off, Juventus threw back his head impatiently. Terje quickly gathered up the reins and clicked his tongue. Churning snow beneath his hooves, Juventus sprang into motion. The forest rushed past on either side of them.

Suddenly, Elise shrieked in delight. ‘Obstacle ahead!’     

Seeing her jump, Terje stood in the stirrups. He let Juventus calculate the distance, and chased his horse across the snow-covered, fallen tree.  

*******

‘Welcome, Jens. Thank you for coming,’ Frode heard Dr. Hagen say outside her office. He sat waiting in front of her desk feeling trapped and mortified. He hadn't seen Jens in weeks. Hadn't spoken to him at any point between his overdose and hospital admission. Now he was going to have to beg Jens’ forgiveness.

Caught between feeling guilty as hell and tired of everything, he wished the world would just stop for a second. That for just a moment, everything could be still so he could regain his bearings. But here at the hospital, things never stopped. Not the noise of the other psychiatric patients, not the thoughts that kept him from falling asleep, not the ever-present, watchful staff...

The irony of thinking he'd hit rock bottom after waking up from that overdose didn't escape him. Perhaps he couldn’t have sunk any lower back then, but he was currently drilling through that rock bottom and into the reservoir rock and fossil fuel sludge below. The medication that Dr. Hagen started him on messed with his head worse than his supposed PTSD, and the stomach pains that began to plague him due to indigestion on the second day hadn't let up since.

Frode startled from his thoughts when Jens took a seat. ‘Hey Jensie. How are you?’

Jens scrutinised him. ‘I guess I can't complain, compared to you. What happened to your face?’

Frode involuntarily raised a hand to the outbreak on his cheeks. ‘It's the damn meds.’

‘Most of the side effects should disappear when your body gets more used to them,’ said Dr. Hagen, who sat down opposite them and clasped her hands in front of her. ‘So, Jens. You're here today because Frode wants to say something to you.’

‘Yeah.’ Frode stared at the back of her computer screen as he fumbled for words, following the connector cable with his eyes to where it twisted and disappeared from sight. ‘There's a lot I want to apologise for. First of all, for giving you such a scare the other week. I didn't mean to do anything drastic, just... put some distance between myself and my mistakes for a while.’

‘And your only way to cope was to get fucked up?' Jens asked. ‘You're lucky this shit was new to Espen, because if I'd found you like that, I seriously would've considered walking away and letting you get what you deserve.’

‘Jens,’ Dr. Hagen interjected quickly, ‘I'm hearing you say that it's been very difficult for you to see Frode go down this path again.’

‘I grew up thinking he was the one stable presence in my life, and finding out I can't even count on that anymore has really shaken me. And it makes me furious that he's doing this to our mother after everything we've been through with our dad. He should know that she...’

Frode tried to keep listening, but got stuck on essentially hearing that Jens would rather have let him die. A single intrusive thought formed into a fully-fledged plan within moments. He could fake rehabilitation long enough to get out of here. His passion for extreme sports set a precedent for going into the mountains, never to return. All he had to do was make sure it looked like an accident.

Jens eventually stopped talking, and Dr. Hagen looked at Frode expectantly. ‘What were the other things you wanted to apologise for, Frode?’          

Frode heard his own words echo back at him completely void of emotion. ‘For manipulating Kristin. It must've hurt you both a lot that I betrayed your trust like that. I'm not sure how to set things right, but I'm welcoming any suggestions.’            

‘You can't,’ Jens snapped. ‘You realise that, don't you? It'll never be the same again.’

Frode glanced at him sideways, but found he couldn't look Jens in the eyes.

‘Is there anything else you'd like to say to your brother, Jens?’

‘Yeah, I just wanted to make it clear that it was completely mental that you put mum through getting you a goddamned detention order. You'd think that after the way you ruined our family life you'd have a bit more sense than to send the police on a merry fucking chase through town where everyone could see how derailed you are. But I guess we should've known you would try something crazy, since that's apparently what you do every time you have an inconvenient emotion.’

‘Jens,’ Dr. Hagen said gently, ‘I don't think you grasp the complexity of the situation.’

‘Maybe I don't, but I know plenty of people who are depressed without being such an asshole about it.’

‘I'm not talking about the depression, though of course there is no one way to suffer from that. Post-traumatic stress disorder causes alterations in the way a person thinks, and an increase in the fight-or-flight response. With his brain chemistry so out of balance, it's been difficult for Frode to make rational decisions in stressful situations. And that's no one's fault,’ Dr. Hagen said with emphasis, looking from Jens to Frode.       

Frode inclined his head to indicate that he registered what she said, though he didn't necessarily agree.   

At the end of the hour Jens got up to leave. He gave Frode an unexpected hug. ‘This is from Espen. He told me to tell you he loves you, and can't wait for you to come home.’

Wrapping his arms around Jens tight, Frode swallowed his spiking grief.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Across from Terje at the long kitchen table of the farm house, Asbjørn had the regional paper open. The steam that curled from his hot coffee scattered when he flipped a page with a troubled expression. Terje didn't ask, but when Asbjørn finished his coffee and left the kitchen, he pulled the paper across the table top to read the headline on the front page. _Three sheep mutilated and killed in attack on local farm._

He scanned the article with a sick feeling in his gut. It happened again, closer this time. There were six weeks between this report and a similar one back in April, but Terje feared a pattern. This article featured a farmer he knew, and had him worried for his own cattle. With the perpetrator still on the loose, it might only be a matter of time before his farm was up.

Folding the paper, Terje drained his mug. He headed back outside across the farm yard, lighting a cigarette behind his hand before absently gathering an array of horse shoes from his workshop in the barn. Juventus whickered at him, tossing his big, black head and riling up the two ponies with his impatience to go outside.

Terje unlatched their doors, took the Fjord horse that belonged to his daughter by the mane and led them to the closest meadow. He ushered Juventus past the gate with a smack to his haunches before the dawdling horse got it into his head to wander off.

After a brief drive south across the mountain, the Aune stables sprawled in front of him. Terje parked his van near the main entrance to the barn, and checked his planner to see which horses needed his attention today.

Elise knocked on his window with a horse in tow. ‘Can you do Diva first?’ her muffled voice sounded through the glass. ‘She lost a shoe in the pasture.’

The stiff breeze ruffled Diva's short mane as she cropped the grass, and carried Terje's scent in her direction. She looked up sharply and promptly danced away from him when Terje ducked under the fence with a halter in hand. She was too smart not to recognise what his presence meant. Terje followed her at a walk until he finally backed her into the corner, and slung the rope across the arch of her neck. Upon the contact, she dodged and trotted away, swishing her tail irritably. Terje sighed and started after her again, the springy soil squishing under his boots.

The prickly mare surprised him by suddenly heading for the gate of her own volition. Terje glanced back. Elise sat on the top slat and dangled a carrot at her. The treat kept Diva distracted until Terje caught up and slid the halter around her nose.

‘You fell for it again,’ Elise chided Diva. ‘Naughty horses get taken by the Big Bad Farrier.’

‘Don't call me that.’ Terje used a little excessive force to push the gate open with Elise still on top of it. It failed to unbalance her.

‘You're welcome,’ Elise said loudly at his back. She jumped down from the gate and matched her stride with his.

‘You're hard to look at today.’ Terje jerked his head at the neon pink polo shirt she wore with her tan riding breeches.

Elise smiled a winning, toothy smile and brushed her hair back to get rid of the sweaty imprint of a helmet that plastered it to her skull in places. ‘Got my new sponsor gear just in time to put off laundry day.’

‘As if you don't have people to do your laundry. Even I have someone to do that for me.’

‘Kidding, I just wanted to wear this to hurt your eyes.’ Elise nudged him. ‘I hope you don't mind we pencilled in another horse on such short notice.’

‘It's not a problem. Asbjørn and Kat are holding the fort.’

Terje usually came prepared for these eventualities. The Aunes required him to go the extra mile for them and their horses, and Terje did it gladly. He needed their business. 

Elise stayed a minute to put Diva at ease while Terje went back and forth to fit her a new shoe. The young horse didn't like the loud ringing of his hammer on the red-hot metal, nor the stench of her own blackened hoof. Having to stand perfectly still while Terje trimmed, balanced, and drove nails into her feet was an ordeal for her. Still, compared to some of his other clients, Terje never had any complaints about how the Aune horses held up. They were a dream to work with. It was truly a labour of love.

Terje knuckled his back when he straightened up after setting her foot down, and pronounced Diva good to go.

‘Coffee?’ Elise offered, leading her bay stallion Castlefield past Terje. When Terje didn't immediately make up his mind, she called: ‘Don't be a stranger! I know you've got time for a cup.’

A groom offered to take Diva, so Terje had no choice. He waited for Elise to return with mugs in their usual spot, the old lawn chairs on the sunny side of the outdoor riding school.

‘Something's bothering you,’ Elise guessed. ‘Did you read the paper this morning?’

Terje nodded, sipping his scalding coffee.

‘What are you thinking?’

Terje fished a cigarette from the pocket of his shirt and lit it before answering. ‘Doesn't it bother you that we have no way of keeping our animals safe from this?’

*******

A streak of thirty little crosses on the calendar marked a small victory for Frode. He'd been out of the house for a walk every single day, and thus fulfilled his own requirement for adopting a dog. He’d been going to the shelter to check out the dogs up for adoption for weeks, and though unfortunately the out-of-control but gorgeous Belgian shepherd he'd tried to bond with had disappeared, Frode had his sights set on either the friendly older Labrador or the energetic Rottweiler mix currently in the kennel.

When he stepped into the shelter out of the torrential spring rain, the heavyset volunteer in the fleece husky jumper greeted him with a smile. Turid had supervised him in his interactions with the dogs there before, allowing him to get to know them a bit.

‘Hey Frode. Here to hang out with the dogs some more? Or did I finally convince you to join the team?’

‘I'll get back to you on that. I'm actually here to adopt a dog today. I was hoping you could help me.’

‘Did you have your sights set on a particular dog yet? Because we just had one you might like come in from a foster home.’

Following Turid to the kennel, the sound of barking filled Frode's ears. When she halted, he peered over her shoulder in wonder. It was the Belgian shepherd.

‘I thought he'd been adopted ages ago.’

‘One of my colleagues decided to rehabilitate him a bit first.’

The Belgian shepherd barked at Frode and waved his fluffy tail as if trying to get his attention.

‘I'll take him,’ Frode blurted out.

Turid shot him a questioning look. ‘Don't you need to think about it?’

‘I've been thinking about this dog ever since I first saw him. It's got to be him.’

She nodded, letting her hand fall away from the door. ‘He's a bit of an upstart, but I've seen that you know how to handle big dogs. If you're certain, he's yours. Let's draw up the paperwork.’

Frode pocketed the dog's passport after paying the adoption fee. ‘Rex... His previous owner really dug deep for that one.’

‘You're free to rename him whatever,’ Turid said, editing the dog's data at the computer. ‘Next week we'll call to make an appointment at your house to see how things are going. Don't see it as an inspection, but we've got to make sure everything's as it should be.’

Frode thought about the state of his cabin, and resolved to tidy up a bit better over the course of the next week. A dog probably wouldn't mind that he sometimes couldn't find the motivation to do his laundry or hoover, but he wanted to err on the side of caution where other people were concerned.

‘So how would that work, if I wanted to volunteer?’

Turid glanced around at the rapidly crowding lobby. ‘How about we talk it over at your house next week?’

‘Great. See you then!’

Rex wasn't happy about the ride across town, and barked his head off when they pulled away from the shelter. Frode waited him out until they reached his cabin. A hike up the trail in the forest behind his cabin slowly drained Rex's tense energy as they walked, until eventually the tugging on the leash stopped altogether. Strolling among the trees with his new companion at his side made Frode feel something he'd been hard pressed to detect in himself in the last months: a faint sense of optimism. He had a dog, they were going on lots of good walks, and he wouldn't be alone all the time anymore.

Opening the front door, Frode preceded Rex into his house and let him off leash. He watched the dog sniff his things in the various rooms of his cabin with satisfaction. After doing some chores, during which he found himself talking to Rex every time he appeared at his side, he got on the couch to facetime Espen. To his delight, Rex curled up next to him to enjoy a scratch behind the ears. 

‘Hi Frode!’ Espen exclaimed, moving his phone around to get a better angle to look at the screen. He seemed to be sitting on the grass at a music festival, surrounded by people in band hoodies and battle vests. ‘What's up?’

‘I want you to meet someone.’

Espen let out an excited whoop when Frode showed him the dog. ‘He's so cute!’

Daniel's inquisitive face appeared over Espen's shoulder. ‘What's his name?’

‘A cliché if I ever heard one.’

‘Call him Strider,’ Daniel suggested. ‘Because he'd scare Sauron to death, get it?’

Frode smiled, thinking of Daniel's ugly, one-eyed, ginger cat. ‘I guess I like Strider.’ 

‘I'm excited for you,’ Espen said. ‘I'll come over after the weekend to give him a cuddle!’

Frode sat with Strider for a while after he ended the call, quietly happy. They both startled when the alarm on his phone went off. Strider followed Frode to his pill box in the kitchen, and sat on his haunches expectantly when Frode took his antidepressants.

‘You want something, too?’ Won over by Strider's pricked up ears and lolling tongue, Frode tossed him a small treat.

It took Strider no time at all to get invested in watching Frode take his medication once he figured he got a treat every time. And so when Frode crawled back into bed after a walk one morning and ignored the alarm, fed up with the stomach pains and the deadened sense of his body, determined to never take another dose of Fluvoxamine, his dog brought the pill box to him.

 

*******

The glowing butt of Asbjørn's cigarette lit up his face in the shadow of the barns in the predawn darkness. ‘You don't own a Birman cat, do you, uncle Terje? There's one lurking on the hayloft.’

‘Last time I checked we had two Norwegian forest cats and five European short hairs. Show me.’

Extinguishing his cigarette, Asbjørn went up the ladder. Terje waited for him at the bottom, checking his phone. It was Friday already, and he still hadn't heard from Mia whether he could see the kids this weekend. A hissing, spitting noise from the loft made him look up.

‘Got her!’ Asbjørn crowed, handing the cat to Terje by the scruff of her neck.

Terje studied the blue-eyed cat as he cradled her in his arms. She wore a collar, but there was no address on it. ‘Someone's bound to miss this beauty. I'll bring her to the shelter.’       

After clearing a blanket of wet, windblown oak leaves from the windscreen of his pickup, Terje buckled a banged-up cat carrier with the Birman inside in the passenger seat. She was wailing woefully behind the wire door by the time Terje parked next to a dark grey Volvo at the shelter.

The red-haired man unloading bags of dog food shot Terje a crooked smile when he heard the Birman's infernal yowl trail off.

‘You work here?’ Terje asked. ‘I found this cat hiding out on my property.’

‘I do. Let's see if she's got a chip or something.’ 

As Terje followed him inside, something about the volunteer seemed familiar. He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was before he got distracted by the big black dog that came up to sniff the cat.

The volunteer nudged his dog aside and took the carrier. ‘She'll have to go into quarantine until the vet has time for her.’

In the time it took for the volunteer to get the cat settled in, Terje wrote his phone number down on a notepad on the front desk. ‘Let me know whether you find her owner.’ 

The volunteer took the note with a faint smile. ‘They say cats don't have owners. Just personnel.’

‘Isn't that the truth of it,’ Terje said. ‘That's a really handsome dog you've got there.’

‘Thanks. He used to live on a farm. Which I'm guessing you do, too.’

Terje self-consciously sniffed his flannel shirt. ‘Yeah... Okay, good luck.’ 

The rest of the morning went by driving the herd back to the barn before rain and hooves destroyed his pastures beyond repair. Asbjørn balanced their old dog on the tractor while Terje drove it over to retrieve the milk station from the furthest meadow. Back at home, Terje only got around to drying his face in the scullery when his phone rang.

‘Terje, it's me.’

‘Mia, how are you?’

‘Things are hectic. Harald's been a great help planning the wedding, but there's so much to do with two households and all of our kids...’

‘You know what I'm going to ask.’

‘This weekend's not a good time.’

‘You always say that. Please, Mia. I haven't seen Emma and Jakob in a month. Have you ever had to miss them for that long?’      

Mia got defensive when she spoke. ‘You've got to keep in mind what a hassle it is for me. You let them eat all the wrong things and stay up way too late, I get them back with filthy clothes - did you know Jakob had chicken fleas in them last time? I had to decontaminate half the house!’

‘What if we make some rules together?’ Terje asked before she could talk herself out of it again. ‘Come on, I promise it'll be better for everyone.’

She hesitated a moment. ‘Fine, we'll talk about it when you come over next weekend.’

‘I thought we agreed I could see them every other weekend. This is not enough. They'll grow up thinking I don't care about them.’       

‘Was it just me you didn't care about, then?’

Terje suppressed the urge to hurl his phone across the hall. ‘I’ve _always_ cared about you, Mia. As my best friend, as the mother of my children. I'm gutted that you're gone, and I don't think what you're saying is fair.’

Mia sighed, and let the silence stretch. ‘I'll see you next weekend.’

‘Wait. Can I talk to the kids?’

‘I'll ask.' Mia opened a door on the other end of the line. Terje heard a TV blaring. 'You guys want to talk to dad?’

A deafening lack of response followed.

‘Looks like they're busy. Bye Terje.’

Terje stood staring at his phone for a second before pocketing it and heading back outside for a cigarette. He lit one in the cold rain, drawing in lungfuls of hot smoke to ward off the emptiness that threatened to swallow him up. It slowly unravelled him that his children didn't care for his presence in their life anymore. He might no longer be a husband, but he would never cease to be a father.

When his phone went off again, his heartbeat picked up hopefully. Then he noticed the unknown local number on the screen.

‘Hi, ah, Terje?’ said the volunteer he spoke to that morning. ‘The cat got picked up by her owners just now.’

‘I'm glad,’ Terje said, knowing he sounded everything but.  

‘Yeah, they wanted to let you know they're very thankful.’

‘Okay, great. Keep up the good work.’

As Terje hung up, it suddenly hit him what was so familiar about that volunteer. It was the remnants of a speech impediment. But where had he heard it before?

*******

Home from his shift at the shelter in time for lunch, Frode caught Espen staring at the calendar on the fridge. ‘When is your first exam?’

‘Monday,’ Espen said absently, opening the fridge door and peering in. ‘I see you have therapy later. Want me to come with?’

Frode paused in measuring Strider's food. ‘I usually go by myself.’

Espen got in the car with him regardless, but stayed put when Frode entered the clinic, opening a text book in the passenger seat to study. He claimed he found the sound of the heavy rain on the car’s roof relaxing.

Doctor Hagen regarded Frode with optimistic curiosity when he sat down in her office. ‘How has your month been, Frode?’

Frode self-consciously picked a dog hair off his button down, then didn't know what to do with it. He got up to throw it in the bin next to the door.

‘It's been surprisingly okay. I have Espen over, and I started picking up some shifts at the animal shelter.’

Doctor Hagen masked a look of surprise at the mention of him doing work. She had seen what a wreck he was when he found out his mental state disqualified him from ever working on the oil rig again. The police had dumped him on the clinic’s doorstep in hysterics three days after his discharge.

‘I'm pretty excited to be contributing to something again,’ Frode told her, ‘but at the same time I'm experiencing a lot of anxiety.’

‘Tell me about the anxiety.’

‘It's mostly fear they'll discover I'm no good.’

‘Can you explain what you mean by that?’

‘That’s what people around town say about me now. That I’m an alcoholic and a junkie. My mother told me there was a lot of talk about my behaviour last winter. I'm sure that if the other volunteers knew about my past, they wouldn't want to work with me.’

‘Why don't we let the past rest and look towards the future for a moment here,’ Dr. Hagen suggested. ‘What motivated you to make this change?’

Frode hesitated. ‘Having a dog kind of confronted me with how much I miss being around people. Living alone really gets to me sometimes, and I found that when I'm out with the dog it's easier to meet new people and talk to them.’

‘Is that something that’s on your mind in taking these steps to get out of the house more? Finding someone new?’

Frode shook his head. ‘I’m not fit for a relationship right now. I did try, ah- I thought about hooking up with someone through a dating app. But it’s no use while I’m on meds.’  

‘You haven’t seen any improvement on Sertraline either?’

‘No.’  

‘But say you meet someone in the future. What would you need to do to make a relationship a success?’ 

Frode averted his eyes. ‘I’d want to make a difference someone’s life in a good way. They shouldn't be some sort of lifeline to me, like Daniel was.’

He had to take a moment to breathe, feeling the old grief lying in wait below the surface.

Dr. Hagen kept looking at him. ‘What would you want to offer a romantic partner?’

‘Trust. Security. Stability. A promising future...’

He could go on, but doctor Hagen stopped him. ‘Sounds like you put quite some thought into it. Wouldn't it be enough to start with love?’

‘No. It's not enough. Especially not with the current state of affairs.’

Doctor Hagen sat back to regard him. ‘What do you mean when you say that?’

Frode threw his hands up in frustration. ‘All I've done this year is sit around wasting air and space.’

‘Frode, I'm going to ask you to break out of that thought pattern for a second.’

Frode held his silence.

‘When Espen got injured, did you at any point in his recovery tell him he was wasting space, waiting for his body to heal?’

Frode already knew where Dr. Hagen was going with that rhetoric, but waited for what she had to say out of politeness.

‘You're a scientist. Why don't you acknowledge that the brain is part of the body, and mental health issues need to be treated with the same consideration as broken bones, or endocrine conditions?’

‘The brain is easier to manipulate. Thoughts and habits can influence the plasticity –’

‘Yes, and low dopamine and serotonin levels take away every motivation to do that. So what exactly does beating yourself up over your condition add to your healing process?’

He looked away with burning eyes. ‘I caused that accident. I had a career and the love of my life and I threw it all away.’

‘I know,’ Dr. Hagen said gently.

Frode grit his teeth against his rapidly closing throat. ‘I still feel so weak and deconstructed. Is this ever going away?’

Doctor Hagen’s face became a little pinched. She stroked the deep brown ponytail hanging over the shoulder of her white coat. Some of the hair caught on her badge. ‘Let's talk about how you’ve been sleeping. I have a feeling that it might be amplifying any negative emotions you're experiencing...’

Espen put his book away when Frode got into the car and took off his wet coat. ‘Did you have a good talk? What did you guys discuss?’

‘Just… Work. Social contacts. Medication,’ Frode said, unwilling to go into detail about the painful subjects.

‘Was that what you needed today?’

‘No.’

‘What should you have said?’

Frode rubbed his face with both hands. ‘That I'm struggling so much, going on with no future in mind.'

Espen took his right hand and squeezed it hard between his own, cradling it to his chest in the most loving gesture he could manage in the confined space. ‘Hey... There's nothing wrong with taking it day by day. That you can’t see a future right now doesn’t mean it isn’t there.’

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

The water's edge of lake Mjøsa marked the five kilometre point from Frode's cabin. Frode tapped the bank of the lake with his foot to mark the accomplishment. It was not bad, a month after taking up running. As someone who used to roam the uninhabited wilds of Norway every chance he got he was disappointed in his limited range, but as someone who struggled to wean himself off his medication after one and a half years on antidepressants, he appreciated the progress. Of course this short run didn't compare to trekking through Jotunheimen national park, or to camping out in the bitter cold snows near Tromsø to capture the northern lights on camera. But as long as he still dreamt of hangings and mountaineering accidents, he would take it.  

Strider waded into the dark water, his long coat swirling around him on the calm surface. Frode watched him, catching his breath. He'd only thought of running on as long as he could once he found his rhythm. The way back up the mountain was of later concern.

Sooner than he would have liked, the sky became overcast and a wet chill transformed the breeze. He continued his run when precipitation began to threaten, trusting his dog to follow as he took the trail among the trees.

Over the rushing of mild rain on the canopy, the soft clip-clopping of hooves slowly approached, followed by voices. Frode looked around to locate Strider. He had no idea how these horses would react to a big dog off leash.

‘Strider, here boy!’ he called, slowing to a walk and turning around.

A rustle in the underbrush level with the horses sent a small flock of birds up into the sky with wildly beating wings. One of the horses spooked, rearing up in alarm.

The rider let out a surprised exclamation when her nervous chestnut mare gathered her body like a coiled spring. 

‘Relax, Elise,’ the second rider warned. ‘You’re just egging that horse on.’

‘Diva! Easy!’ Elise snapped, pulling her horse into a tight circle that became a pirouette halfway because the horse reared again.

Frode's heart pounded in his throat as he watched the chestnut wrest control from her rider. She leapt away when Elise let go of the reins to clutch her neck, gathering speed quickly. The second rider urged his dark horse into motion after the chestnut.

Frode quickly jumped off the trail when the horses came thundering his way, galloping faster and faster, hooves pounding the forest floor.  

The chestnut tore past him first. Elise managed to push herself upright, fumbling for the reins that swung with break-neck speed. Clamping her legs around the horse’s rump while her lost stirrups swayed, she somehow remained astride and tried to slow the worked-up mare with a heaving pull on the reins. When that didn't work, the black overtook them and began to crowd the chestnut off the trail into the underbrush.

‘Terje! What are you doing?’ Elise shrieked as the horses bumped into each other, tossing their heads and snorting.

Terje brought his horse around to fully block the chestnut's path some hundred metres ahead of Frode. They came to a skidding standstill. Frode clipped the leash on Strider's collar.

‘Breathe,’ he heard Terje say to Elise. ‘It's okay. Give her some rein. She's got nowhere to go. Easy on that mouth.’

Terje remained in place, both he and his horse a calm, solid presence, until the chestnut surrendered with a big snort.

‘Is everything all right?’ Frode asked. ‘I apologise for my dog. I noticed you too late.’

Elise twisted in the saddle to look at him. She was still panting from the scare. ‘Dog? No, it was birds.’

‘But you're okay?’

‘Yeah.’ Elise weakly patted the horse's neck. ‘Diva hasn't been out much yet, so we're both a little on edge.’

Frode could see they were. The horse trembled, nostrils flaring, and sweat stained both her ruddy coat and the armpits of Elise's polo shirt. Elise's wide eyes tugged at something inside Frode's chest.  

‘That looked terrifying,’ he said.

Elise clutched her chest with a gloved hand. ‘I never quite got used to these sorts of things.’

With the situation under control, Terje wheeled his mount around to face Frode. ‘We've met before, haven't we?’

Frode stared up at him, and remembered the sour smell of dairy cow that went with an otherwise pleasant face. ‘Right! You found someone's cat on your farm.’

‘How are things at the shelter?’

‘Ups and downs. Most pets find new homes, but we're getting a lot of those inbred dogs people can't afford healthcare for, you know? Pugs, French bulldogs.’

Terje frowned in distaste. ‘I can't even imagine what moves the people who breed those. Even when breeding for profit, healthy animals ought to be a top priority.’

Elise shifted the reins to one hand and leaned down towards Frode from the saddle. ‘Let me look at your dog. He's a handsome boy. Can I pet him?’

‘Sure.’ Frode picked Strider up to bring him closer. ‘I promise he's well-behaved.’

Elise stretched to scratch Strider behind the ears with her fingertips. The fond expression that suddenly transformed her face when she met Frode's eyes felt like a personal gift. She was the sort of woman he never dared to talk to at university; light blond hair framed a dazzling smile that accentuated her cute round cheeks and pointy chin. The split second of eye contact between them had Frode smiling back. It caught him by surprise that he still knew how to.

Elise gently nudged her horse forward, walking her at an easy pace so they could keep talking. ‘Unfortunately I can't say the same about this young lady.’

‘She's got a mind of her own?’

‘Like all good horses do.’

Frode stepped awkwardly on the loose sand of the trail between the horses and looked up at Elise, sitting at shoulder height. The chestnut lengthened her stride to gain a little on the black. ‘Seems like a nice vantage point when you're not hanging on for dear life. How fast does she go, when she takes off like that?’

‘Most of the horses I train are good for sixty kilometres an hour.’

‘That's impressive.’

‘If you're impressed by a bit of running you should see them jump some time.’

‘Would be cool.’

Frode halted to take his leave when they came to a fork in the road. ‘I’m going to head back up the mountain. Take care. Watch out for birds.’

Elise laughed. ‘Are you taking the piss?’

‘Not really. This beat any action film I've watched recently.’

‘Hang on a second, then. I’ll need your phone number if you want to come see her jump.’

Unsure whether to believe what he heard, Frode accepted the pale gold phone she offered and entered his contact details.

‘I'll text you.’ Elise held up her hand in greeting. 

Walking back home along the road up the mountain, Frode didn't even notice the strain on his leg muscles, much less the rain that ran downhill in little streams on the side of the asphalt.

*******

Quiet footsteps approached across the barn floor early on Sunday morning, nearly drowned out by the calves milling in their pen. Terje spread the fodder he scooped up through the trough, then turned to his son, who stood rubbing his eyes, his coveralls half-buttoned over his pyjamas. Jakob took the scoop from Terje and finished feeding the calves.

‘I thought you might want to sleep in after staying up so late.’

‘I want to help out when I'm here.’

‘You know what to do.’ Terje went to switch on the milking equipment. On the other side of the barn, Asbjørn supervised Jakob as he cleaned udders.

‘Dad,’ Jakob asked halfway through the process, meeting Terje's eyes under the belly of a cow as the equipment hummed and pulsed. ‘What are we going to do today?’

‘I promised Emma we'd ride some trails after breakfast. Do you want to come along?’

Jakob shook his head. ‘Horse riding is gay.’

Terje frowned at him. ‘I see you picked up some city manners already.’

After breakfast, Emma saddled her pony unaided. Her rotund Fjord horse and Jake's scraggly grey Welsh had been a gift from Terje's parents once upon a time, and whatever people said about a gift horse, they were exactly the kind of gift Terje had come to expect of them. A slaughterhouse rescue and a local riding school reject, they had probably been the worst animals around at the time. Terje suspected his parents had actually received money to take those horses in and then pawned them off to him, though they would never admit to it. Mia had been outraged at the typical, dubious gesture and pushed for Terje to do away with the ponies, but Terje had taken pity on them, and painstakingly rehabilitated them. The ponies deserved to spend the rest of their previously miserable lives in comfort with him.

Terje quickly laid a saddle on Juventus' back. The black thoroughbred had quite a different origin. He had been one of Louise Aune's showjumpers before an injury stopped him from competing. Elise's mother had given Terje a sweet deal on the former world class horse when she retired him from the sport.

Emma and Terje passed the fields where Terje's cows grazed on the dewy grass, heading for the Birkebeiner trails. Terje let Emma pick their route, and took the occasional photo of her with his phone.  

‘This is nice,’ he remarked when the first rays of the sun gained some strength. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

‘I know, dad,’ Emma said crisply, though he could tell she enjoyed heading out together by the relaxed way she sat her horse, tilting her face towards the sun.

‘Sorry, I forgot you can read minds now that you're officially a teenager.’

Emma walked her pony alongside his once they drew parallel to the small lake. ‘So, are you and Kat dating yet?’

Terje transferred the reins to his left hand and scratched under the helmet straps at the nape of his neck. ‘No, why?’

‘Mum said you probably would, because it's convenient. She said the only reason she lets us come over is because Kat is here. She's scared you won't take good care of us by yourself.’

Terje caught Emma's gaze. ‘Are you?’

‘Nah. I can take care of myself.’

‘Good for you. Race you to the tree line.’

‘You’ve got a faster horse!’ Emma protested.

‘He has to carry three times the weight,’ Terje countered. ‘Though I'll admit, when we went out last weekend he outran one of Elise's horses to save her from an uncertain fate. Did I tell you? This guy showed up with a big dog that was chasing birds...’

Thinking back on the encounter with the red-haired man, something fell into place in Terje's earliest memories. There had been a family across the road when he was young. They had two ginger boys. One day they disappeared without a trace, and Terje never saw them again. 

While he was lost in thought, Emma kicked her pony forward with a squeal. Terje gave her a five second head start before letting Juventus spring into pursuit.

‘I want to do this more often,’ Emma said when they returned, laughing, to the sound of hammering among the trees that lined the farm's driveway.

‘We will,’ Terje promised. He reluctantly called for Asbjørn and Jakob to put down their work. ‘Get cleaned up, lads. We're going to grandma's.’

Waiting at the front door of his parents' home, the children dressed in what he hoped would pass for Sunday clothes and Asbjørn at his side, Terje took a deep breath. His sister Silje opened the door with a welcoming smile.

‘Emma and Jakob! What a surprise! Grandma is going to be so happy to see you.’ Silje hugged them with one arm around each child, and sent them off inside with kisses. She shot Terje a look when he hung back. ‘You coming inside, too?’

‘I guess I'll have to.’ Terje hugged her tight in greeting.

‘Torgeir, you’re here!’ their mother called. ‘I almost thought you'd given up on being a part of this family.’

‘Don't be like that, Ma,’ Terje muttered. ‘You know it's been a weird year for me.’

While their mother brewed a fresh pot and Silje gathered pastry forks from a kitchen drawer, Terje patted his pockets. He'd forgotten to take his cigarettes out of his barn clothes. He snuck a rolling paper and some shag out of his father's tobacco pouch on the kitchen table.

‘I thought Mia made you stop smoking years ago,’ Silje commented as soon as she heard the lighter click.

‘Mia isn't here anymore, is she?’

‘I still don't understand,’ their mother said, sitting down across from him at the kitchen table. ‘What on earth did you do to make her leave? You used to have such a great relationship.’

‘She met another man, Ma. How many times do you need to hear it?’ Terje searched for something else to change the topic to. ‘Hey, do you remember that family that used to live across the road? With those ginger boys?’

‘Are you talking about the Solheim family? They say _he_ hung himself from the rafters in the barn. He was never the same after serving in Lebanon. _She_ left the kids with his parents and disappeared to the big city the same month. Sold the farm to the first buyer.’

Terje let the information process for a moment. ‘So they're not around anymore?’

‘Well, they are! She moved back a few years later with some pianist from the city and had a baby, though they never even got married. Those boys all grew up to be good for nothing except the middle one. He and his wife are both doctors. They had a baby back in September.’

‘How does she know all these things?’ Terje whispered at Silje when their mother stood up to pour one of Silje's daughters a glass of lemonade.

‘The Old Lady Eyes-and-ears Network,’ Silje whispered back.

‘I should use them to do surveillance on the farm. Maybe then I wouldn't have to worry about that psycho animal abuser anymore.’

‘Did something happen again?’

‘Last week, a couple of towns over. I was hoping it was over after nothing happened all winter.’

Silje grimaced.

Their mother lowered herself back in a chair. ‘Now, what was I saying? Right, so the youngest is a _Satanist Neo-Nazi_ ,’ Grethe whispered the words, ‘and the eldest is a _drunk_ and a _homosexual_.’

Terje set his coffee cup on its saucer with interest. ‘Remember their names, by any chance?’

‘Let's see... The eldest was Frode, you used to play with him all the time, remember, Terje? Then there was Jens. I don't recall what the other brood is called. Even, or something.’

‘Elise and I met a guy the other day,’ Terje said. ‘He reminded me of Frode Solheim.’

‘Well, now you know to give him a wide berth.’    

Terje pressed the butt end of his cigarette into the ash tray.

Silje leaned forward with a sensationalist expression. ‘Did you say he's an alcoholic, Ma?’

Grethe tutted. ‘Yes, his poor mother had to send the police after her own son because he refused to get himself straightened out. It took two officers to drag him kicking and screaming away from the train station in broad daylight. It was the talk of the town back then. Come to think of it, that wasn't the only thing. Another time they found him wandering the pass in the snow without shoes on, off his rocker on pills, and that was _after_ he went to rehab the first time.’

Silje's brow furrowed in thought. ‘I always thought he wasn't right in the head. He talked funny.’

Memories began to flood back into Terje's head now that they fed off each other's recollections. He'd envied the Solheim children their parents. Frode's father used to hold Frode's hand crossing the road, and called him by a pet name. _Look left and right, Little Fox._ Terje’s own father addressed him with a smack to the head more than anything, if he got in the way or did something wrong.

Rolling another cigarette, Terje examined a memory of begging Solheim to take him in as a farm hand. _When you're twelve_ , Solheim had promised. It was a goddamned shame that day had never come.


	4. Chapter 4

 

On a chilly Monday evening that found Frode and Strider lounging on the couch with a small fire crackling in the hearth, Frode's phone began to buzz with a frequency that made him suspect Espen's rapid-fire texting. When he picked it up, however, he noticed they were from an unknown number. He opened the messages.

_Hey Frode, it's Elise. With the runaway horse. I promised I'd text. Terje and I were arguing what breed your dog is. I thought it was a flat-coated retriever but Terje insists it's a German shepherd mix. Solve the mystery for us? ~ Elise_

He glanced over at Strider before texting back.

_Hi Elise. He's a Belgian shepherd, also called Groenendaeler. I hope you and your horse made it home okay. ~ Frode_

_Yeah, we were fine, thanks! I never heard of that breed. I'll be sure to rub it in that Terje was wrong :) ~ Elise_

_Have fun with that. Do you own any dogs, or just horses? ~ Frode_

_My mum has a lot of cute dogs. Look:_

Elise attached a photo of herself lying back on a sofa with a small terrier type sleeping on her chest. She looked very soft and approachable in a mint green zip hoodie and her hair freshly washed.

 _It doesn't get much cuter than this_ , he texted back.

_Come to the stables tomorrow. I'll show you around if you like. We could have lunch together. ~ Elise_

He stared at the invitation for a moment, going from bafflement to mild panic in the span of a few heartbeats. He forced himself to type a reply.

_That sounds fun. What's the address? I'll be there. ~ Frode_

On Tuesday morning, when he called Espen to explain the situation to him and list all the reasons why he couldn't go see Elise as promised, Espen didn't even grace his exposition with a reply.

‘Someone with my kind of baggage just isn’t fit to hang out with a girl like Elise.’

‘You're nervous,’ Espen said, ‘and that's okay. But cancelling appointments with women who are perfectly capable of making their own decisions is not.’  

Frode searched for a flaw in Espen's logic, and found none.

‘Wear the beige chino's with the light blue button down and those cognac brogues. Have fun!’

‘Can you believe this?’ he asked Strider when Espen hung up, but he grabbed the clothes Espen listed, and changed. 

Elise met him in the parking lot of a stable complex, where he parked his car between a dusty Range Rover and a black horse truck that read _Aune Sport Horses_ in gold lettering on the sides. On her own two feet, Elise turned out to be of average height. He had trouble pinning an age on her, wearing sportswear and minimal makeup, but her confident manner put her somewhere around his age. She smiled at him, tilting her face in a way that invited him to bend down to kiss her in greeting.

‘Good to see you again. Is this where you work?’

‘Welcome to my office.’ Elise led him around the stables and explained that the horses she bred and trained were showjumpers for the highest level of competition. She pointed out her favourite animals and snuck the horse she'd worked with before he arrived an apple.

A beautiful, middle-aged woman approached them while they stood talking in one of the aisles. She wore riding gear despite her age, and sported a short ponytail in that nice pale gold colour rich women tended to dye their hair. ‘Elise? If you happen to see Terje, could you tell him I need to go over the schedule of Astrid’s horses with him? I’ll be in my office.’

‘Sure.’

When the woman disappeared, Frode asked: ‘Is that your boss?’

Elise laughed. ‘In a way. She's my mum. I do what she used to, but less good.’

‘You're probably just being modest.’

A mysterious smile was Elise's only answer. ‘Do you work in the area, Frode? Or in the city?’  

There it was. Shame flooded him before he could so much as formulate an answer in his head. He hadn't worked a single day since his first overdose, save his volunteer work.

‘Did Terje mention I work at the shelter in town? I used to live in Stavanger and work for Statoil, but I grew up around here, so when my youngest brother was going through some stuff last year, I came back home.’

Elise absently played with the horse while he listened, petting the soft ears and nose here and there. She cocked her head at Frode. ‘What happened?’

The surfacing memory of a trauma helicopter disappearing over jagged mountains crowded out his thoughts, but it no longer had the same power over his mind as it had a year ago.

He plucked at the stubble in his neck, forcing himself to look back and put it into words. He still lived with the fallout of Espen's accident every day, but the inciting incident felt somehow separate. Like something that happened out of the space-time continuum altogether.

‘My brother Jens and I used to go rock climbing every summer, and Espen went with us for the first time. He's a lot younger than us. He just graduated grammar school back then. There was an accident that nearly killed him. It took him a long time to recover from it.’

Elise winced. ‘Poor thing.’

‘You have any siblings?’

‘Sadly, I'm all alone in this world,’ Elise said with a touch overacted drama that made Frode laugh.

‘Not sure how much of a disadvantage it is, really. It's impossible not to be affected by the things that happen to them, or the choices they make. Believe me, I tried.’

A pack of small terriers came running past them, yipping at an unseen disturbance. Strider wagged his tail, eager to go after them.

‘That'll be Terje,’ Elise said.

Frode walked with her through a series of aisles that held stables with magnificent horses on either side, past an indoor riding school that echoed with hoof beats. Elise shot a glance inside, where a young woman soared across a set of obstacles on the back of a brown gelding.

‘In a way, I’m glad my mother didn't have to divide her attention. I love that it’s just the two of us and my dad. I don't know what my career would have looked like if my mum been more busy mothering.’

‘You got your talent from your mum?’

‘Mostly her love for horses and her work ethic. I don't know if talent had anything to do with it,’ Elise said with a coy expression.

Frode found himself smiling at her again. ‘You’re right. Calling things talent kind of discredits all the hard work people don’t see, doesn’t it?’

Elise casually greeted Terje where the main entrance to the stables opened up on a court yard. Terje looked up from where he stood whittling away at the hoof of a big bay horse, its leg clamped between his knees.

‘Louise wants to talk to you later, if you've got time. Astrid's tour schedule changed.’

Terje nodded. ‘I’ll go see her later. How’s Diva holding up?’

‘She was tense in the ring this weekend.’

‘Probably feeling a little battered.’

Strider sniffed around Terje's van as Frode watched the exchange, drawing closer to the excess hoof growth that fell away under Terje's knife. Before Frode could haul him back by the leash, his dog made off with a scrap, loudly chewing on it.

‘Strider,’ he warned.

‘Better get used to that,’ Terje said good-naturedly. ‘The minute you turn your back he’s going to be eating horse shit, I can guarantee you that.’

‘You’ll develop a strong stomach soon enough when you come here more often,’ Elise said. ‘Speaking of which, mine is growling. Let's have lunch.’

When she drew Frode away in the direction of the manor with a hand on his arm, her touch burned him with both guilt and hope. He set the guilt aside for now.

*******

Sunlight streamed through the filthy barn windows despite the early hour. It ringed Asbjørn’s curly head with a halo as he stood around with a faraway look. Asbjørn resembled Terje more than his own children did, and reminded him of himself when he was that age in many ways. Except of course that Terje spent as little time as possible on the farm when he was eighteen, working instead as a farrier’s apprentice. Back then, he wouldn’t have thought he’d ever live here again.   

‘What's on your mind, Bjørn?’ he asked over the back of a late calf he was bottle-feeding. 

Asbjørn hoisted himself onto the stone wall of the calf enclosure. ‘The attacks on those farms. I had a dream last night, about that psycho skulking around here. I woke up in a cold sweat, I'll tell you that much.’  

Terje scratched the calf between the ears, tracing the divide of coarse black and white hair over the ridge where horns would form one day. He hadn't been able to put the reports from his mind either. ‘I’ve been thinking of retiring Sam. Not sure he still has any bark left in his old carcass, let alone bite.’

The grizzled German shepherd stiffly did his morning round through the barn. Sam had served him well for many years, and his father before Terje grudgingly took over the farm. Always alert and helpful, except for the times he got under the tractor in his mindless enthusiasm, he'd survived just about anything life had thrown at him. But these days Terje used him more as a snuggle buddy than as a guard dog. In his old age, Sam chose to sleep on Terje’s chest while he watched TV more often than he prowled the boundaries of the farm land.

Another thought occurred to Terje. ‘When's the last time you shot a rifle?’

‘Not since you taught me when I was fifteen.’

‘This might be a good time for a refresher course.’

Over breakfast, Terje tasked Kat with finding them a suitable working dog to take over from Sam. She argued with him about the merits of getting a puppy, and only accepted his decision in a huff when he put his foot down.

Asbjørn crammed his breakfast into his mouth in record time, eager to get a chance at using a weapon. Terje took him to a stretch of fallow land, where he put a paper target up on a tree trunk at a good distance. Beyond scaring away a stubborn pair of crows that kept trying to nest in the chimney every spring, he hardly used the rifle either, but in his father's day he'd been drilled with it enough for the skill to stick.

‘Pay attention,’ he told Asbjørn, showing him how to how to load shells of birdshot properly. ‘You pull the lever this way and then that... And put the butt end against your shoulder like this –’ He squeezed the trigger, hitting the outer edge of the target on the square card. He handed the rifle to Asbjørn.

In his focus on taking aim, Asbjørn leaned back to squint at the mark, forgetting about the recoil. The rifle jumped in his hand, almost pushing him over backwards.

‘Mind the kick,’ Terje said, trying not to laugh. ‘Not quite the same as playing Call of Duty, is it?’

Asbjørn grinned sheepishly. ‘Any tips?’

‘Take a firm stance, but be flexible. Lean forward a bit more. Just let it move you, and move right back in.’

Terje went back to work with gunshots firing irregularly in the distance.

When Asbjørn had his fill of target practice, he accompanied Terje to a remote pasture to check on a health issue in one of the cows. Brown grasshoppers and the yellow flies that sat on the cow dung jumped up before their boots in the cropped grass as the fields warmed up under the sun. The cows lazily flicked their tails, grazing and ruminating contently in the fair weather. It took Terje a minute to find the cow he was looking for. She stood up warily when she saw them, but allowed Terje near. He squatted by her hind legs to let Asbjørn check the progression of her mastitis. Part of her udder still felt inflamed to the touch, with a mild swelling at the infection site, but she seemed to be on the mend. As he examined her milk for traces of blood, Terje lectured Asbjørn on exercising restraint with antibiotics.

With no shoeing to be done today, Terje looked for pressing chores back at the farm, but Asbjørn had been on top of things this week. They ended up finally looking into the requirements of going biological with their dairy, and Terje gave Asbjørn permission to go have lunch at his girlfriend's house in town when noon rolled around. 

Kat called him to the kitchen for lunch not long after.

‘How are you feeling, Terje?’ she asked when he sat down with her. Her serious expression contrasted the whimsical highlights in her bleach-blond hair. ‘We haven't really talked much, lately.’

‘I’m glad Mia and I got things sorted. Spending some time with the kids did me a lot of good.’

‘You still miss her much?’

‘Well, yeah. It's surreal when someone you've been with for so long suddenly has a different life without you.’

Kat lightly covered his hand with hers across the table. ‘You'll be able to look ahead again at some point again as well. You're a great guy, you can have a family again if you want to.’

Meeting her gaze, Terje wondered if she meant that to be more than a random encouragement. Their relationship inherently blurred the lines of work and private life because she lived in his house and her tasks consisted of things a wife might do, but he got the feeling Kat tried to redefine the boundaries wherever she could since his divorce.

He gently extracted his hand to butter a slice of bread. ‘I don’t know about that. To be honest, I’m still just trying to keep my head above water.’


	5. Chapter 5

 

Strider’s nails rapidly clicking on the wooden floor betrayed their visitor before Frode became aware of any other sound over the humming of his oven. He wiped down his counter, and followed to where Elise had likely come in through the back door. She stood looking around his small living room, dressed up in shorts and a flowy blouse and rather dusty boat shoes. Even with the loose, messy braid that hung over her shoulder, she looked put together.

Frode breathed in the heady mixture of wonder and excitement that rushed through him every time she looked at him. ‘Hey, welcome.’  

Elise sniffed the air with her eyes closed. ‘What are you making? It smells delicious.’

‘Pumpkin lasagne. I was just about to take it out of the oven.’

‘Let's do this, I'm famished.’

Setting the hot oven dish on the kitchen table, he waited for Elise to pick a spot before sitting down opposite her. ‘I know it’s not really the season, but I promise it’s good.’

Elise made an appreciative noise when he filled her plate. ‘You could've served me anything, I'm glad I can finally put my feet up and eat.’

‘I hope you didn't feel obliged to come here after a long day of training.’

Blowing on a bite of lasagne, Elise protested. ‘I don't think you understand how much I need to get away from all that sometimes.’

‘Tell me, then.’

‘Well, I chose this career and I want this for myself, but it's hard work and it doesn't always pay off the way I imagine. I've always got to be in control and thinking ahead...’ 

‘I suppose it takes a special kind of person to be able to keep that up for an extended period of time.’

Elise grimaced around her fork. ‘And a good support system. My ex didn't understand that. Wanted me to prioritise him over the sport when we got serious. I had to let him go.’

‘Didn't he know what it would be like?’

‘I thought he did, but I guess we wouldn't have fought as much if that were the case.’

‘Sounds lonely.’

‘It is. It’s not easy finding someone. The type of guy I tend to meet usually sees me as a potential trophy wife that fills the void in her life with horses instead of a husband and children. They don't stick around long when it turns out they're supposed to be the trophy.’

Frode laughed. ‘Isn't the whole point that you want to be with a person for who they are, whether their dreams are big or small? I don't think trying to make yourself or the other less in order to fit certain roles is healthy.’

‘Aren't you emancipated.’

‘My mother is very accomplished.’

‘How did you end up volunteering for a shelter, then?’

Frode hesitated a bit too long. ‘I thought I'd keep busy by doing something I'm passionate about while I'm in between jobs.’

He wasn't technically lying, but he felt a little guilty toward Elise. Perhaps when he spoke to Dr. Hagen next he could ask her opinion on how to bring up what was going on in his life without making Elise run for the hills. He really wanted to get to know her.

They moved to the couch with tea after dinner. In the middle of a conversation about the high school they had apparently both attended without ever meeting each other, Elise surprised him by putting her feet up in his lap as she leaned back, nursing her hot mug. Testing the waters, Frode picked a sliver of straw off the side of her left foot. She shot him a grin when he brushed the fine grains of sand off her soles.

‘If you tickle me I can't guarantee I won't kick you in the face.’

‘Can you handle a foot rub?’

‘That's more like it.’

As Frode concentrated on putting the right pressure on the soles of her feet with his thumbs, Elise spoke again. ‘I need a date for a charity dinner next weekend, and I was thinking of you.’

Frode searched her face. ‘Really? I don't know what to say.’

‘Say yes. People will think I can't get a man if I bring my mum again.’

Her laughter almost made Frode forget his reservations, but he shrugged uneasily.

Elise nudged him. ‘We're having a good time right now, right? It won't be much different. Unless you don't want to be seen in public with me.’

Frode shook his head. ‘What kind of talk is that?’

‘Go on, then. It's not a big deal. We can get dressed up, get drunk...’

‘I don't drink.’ Frode looked away, afraid Elise might see it written on his face that the last time he got dressed up for a social event it ended in respiratory arrest from alcohol poisoning and an overdose of sleeping pills.

‘I really shouldn't drink either. It messes with my metabolism and focus for days.’

Frode held his silence, waiting for her to demand an explanation.

‘How about we compromise?’ Elise tried again. ‘You come to the dinner with me, and on our next date you get to choose what we do.’

The temptation of a chance to make new memories to override the last two years was hard to resist, as was the offer of more dates. He needed to get over himself and accept.

‘I'd be honoured.’

‘Wonderful. It's going to be an early morning again tomorrow. See you soon.’ Elise left him with a peck on his cheek and directions on how to dress and where to meet her.

When she was gone, Frode said to Strider: ‘Did I ever tell you you're a great wing man?’

Strider sent him an insulted look over his shoulder. He didn't look happy at all that Frode hadn't paid him any attention all evening.

 

*******

Kat called to Terje from the open door to the scullery when he came up to the house for coffee. ‘I've got a lead on a dog. You have time to go check it out?’

Terje nodded, kicking off his boots on the mat. While Kat poured him coffee, he gratefully wolfed down the slice of apple pie left over from Asbjørn’s birthday the other day. He let Sam lick the crumbs and whipped cream off his empty plate.  

‘We should bring Sam to see if they get along,’ Kat said when the old dog's slobbering drew her attention.

‘Good one. I'm glad you always think of these things beforehand.’

‘Life always sort of happens to you, doesn't it?’ Kat teased.                                  

‘For the most part.’

‘Good thing you've got me, then.’ Kat casually reached over to pet through his curls.

Terje silently cursed himself for letting her play him so easily, but there was no denying how big of a help she was in reminding him of the small things. Working around the clock every day only left him so much time to spend on thinking ahead.

On their way to the breeder a couple of towns over, an awkward silence filled the cabin of his pickup.

‘I thought you'd be more excited about getting a new dog,’ Kat eventually remarked.

‘I'm not thrilled about the reason why.’

‘You really see this psycho as a threat, huh?’

‘I do. Remember that one farm hand we had back in Asbjørn’s exam year?’

‘Yeah. You scared me when you kicked him out. I’ve never seen you so angry and violent.’

‘I needed to make sure he realised I was going to fuck him up if I ever saw him near my farm again. His sadistic little games really messed with the animals. Imagine the extent of the damage if we get a visit from this sicko.’

‘I still don't understand why he did it.’

‘Because he was an evil kid, plain and simple. There's never an excuse to hurt an animal. Any frustration we feel towards them is always our fault, because we can’t make ourselves understood.’

‘I know,’ Kat said, patting his thigh. ‘I know you care about the animals a lot.’

Terje moved her arm out of the way to fiddle with the radio. ‘They're vulnerable. The least I can do for them is make sure they're protected.’

The breeder Kat contacted the day before unpleasantly reminded Terje of his father; a thin, greying man with the sallow skin of a long-time smoker. Stepping into his house, Terje overrode his foreboding out of a sense of urgency to improve security on his farm. The breeder presented them with a sleek Doberman female some two years old. She was powerfully built and slightly mean-looking. After observing her temperament and obedience over coffee with the breeder, Terje was quite taken with her beautiful, streamlined head and the funny tan eyebrows patterned over her dark eyes. When introducing her to Sam went without a hitch, Terje was sold.

The breeder had no scruples parting with Dana for the right price, so Terje bundled her in the pickup and took her home.

‘Good find,’ he told Kat once they were back on the road. 

Kat hesitated. ‘Don't you think it's odd he gave her away like that?’

‘I paid her worth, in case you didn't notice.’

‘Yeah, but... He didn't know you, you barely know the dog. I didn't think we'd be taking her home today.’

‘It suits me. I can't go taking this sort of time out of my day on a regular basis...’

When Kat remained silent, Terje felt torn between listening to her instinct and doing what he intended. It seemed like such a waste of time, not to mention weird, if they turned around now.

As always, he found soon enough that there simply was no ignoring a woman's intuition in any given situation. Dana got restless near the end of the journey, startling them with unexpected, fearful yelps. By the time they reached the farm, she'd thrown up in the back seat. When Terje coaxed her out of the pickup, she nearly hung herself on the leash in a sudden eagerness to get out. He struggled to calm her down.  

Kat shot him an uncertain look. ‘What's with the one-eighty in personality?’

Terje regarded the dog quivering at the end of the leash. ‘I’d almost say her tranquilizer wore off.’ 

Kat's expression turned furious. ‘Let's go back. We got fucked over!’

‘Yeah, but if we go back, that dog is going to get fucked over. It's better that she stays.’

‘Terje, listen to me. You're just inviting trouble now. Take the dog back.’ Kat repeated herself when Terje made no move. ‘Get in the car.’

‘No. She's staying. I can fix her.’

‘I don't exactly feel safer having a dog like this around.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Terje said firmly. ‘We just need to make her feel at home.’

Inside the house, Dana slunk away. Terje let her be for the moment, and went up in the attic to see if he still had an extra dog bed and food bowls somewhere.

 

*******

Standing in front of his closet on Saturday morning, Frode looked everywhere for the dress shirt that went with his navy suit. As he pushed coat hangers apart with growing frustration, he finally remembered that he'd had to throw it away when the whiskey stains didn't come out, and never got around to replacing it. He never had a need for it again, until now.

Even though he fought against revisiting that time, his mind served up the painful recollections one after another. The weight of the guilt of what he'd said and done to Espen. His stepfather asking him to grant them the dignity of disappearing from his life without a fuss. His mother's tears when she learned every humiliating detail about his substance abuse. Daniel hitting him over and over in helpless rage and betrayal.   

He sat down on the edge of his bed and forcibly reminded himself that he was moving further away from that version of himself with every day that passed. He was fairly certain Espen had forgiven him. From the nights before the psych ward where he offered silent comfort by sleeping curled up against Frode’s back, to the help he offered when Frode came home completely unravelled, his actions spoke louder than any words he could’ve said. That was what counted, and Frode in turn would do everything in his power to honour Espen’s sacrifices.

Today, he would go into town and get a new shirt, and make sure Elise never had a reason to regret letting him close.

It was easier to find a shirt that fit him well with his gradual loss of muscle mass, which was something of a blessing with no time to get it tailored. Skipping meals and quitting weightlifting had diminished him in a way, but shedding unhelpful coping mechanisms when his hobbies became just that wasn't much of a loss. It was a reminder that he was doing better, just as Elise's invitation was.

Only the cloud cover dimmed the light of the lengthening days when Elise guided him to an unfamiliar part of town, to the type of upscale venue Frode didn't even know existed in this part of the country. He hoped that the elite present here did not intersect with that of the scientific community. Running into people who knew his mother would probably not go down well. They would remember who he was, and talk. 

Fortunately, Elise wasn't as much of a social butterfly Frode thought her to be from her spontaneity towards him. He took his cues from her whenever he was introduced to someone, but Elise mainly preferred to gossip about people she knew from afar while they dined.  

‘You see that guy with the salt-and-pepper hair? That's Astrid's dad. You know, the girl who trains with my mum?’

Frode nodded, cutting into his salmon.

‘Terje's wife used to screw him when they were both still married. I had such a hard time deciding whether I should tell Terje, but it turned out he already knew. I mean, I sort of get Mia. If you're married to a guy like Terje and he doesn't touch you... That's got to be frustrating. I still don't know what Terje's deal is. Maybe he's asexual. Maybe he prefers cows.’

Despite his mouth full of food, Frode laughed. He wasn't sure what to think of Terje. Elise's farrier seemed friendly on the surface, but he caught Terje giving him the stink eye more than once. As if he knew something.

‘Or horses,' Elise continued speculating. 'You know what they say. One in four farm boys...’

‘I'm suddenly glad me, Jens and Espen didn't actually grow up on my dad's farm. I don't like those odds.’

Elise held his gaze. ‘You never mentioned your dad before. Are your parents divorced?’

‘No, he passed when I was four.’

‘Oh no,’ Elise murmured, taking his hand in hers.

‘I used to wish things were different, but I came to terms with his death. My stepdad is a stand-up guy, and I really love my half-brother. I can’t imagine any other life.’

The evening washed over them in a blur of good food and conversation, and entertainment they barely registered. When Frode parked his car in front of the Aune manor, amazed at how long they managed to stay out, he wished it could have gone on longer.

‘You know what, Elise? I didn't know what to expect tonight, but I... Actually, I still don't know why we were there. You're such good company that I didn't pay attention to anything else. So thanks for having me along.’

Elise took his hand to step out of the car in her heels. ‘I had fun, too. Let me know what we're doing on the next date so I have something to look forward to.’

‘I’ll think on it.’

Frode held her hand, walking her up to the manor. When Elise smiled up at him as if they were sharing in some delightful mischief, his heart seemed to expand for the sole purpose of making more room for her.  

Elise spun around to face him when they reached the front door, wide skirts of her pink silk cocktail dress swishing around her knees. She peered up at him expectantly, and made no move to take her keys out of her clutch.

‘I don't want to presume,’ Frode murmured, though every instinct told him to kiss her.

Elise headed him off by tapping her lips with a finger. 

He carefully leaned in, trying not to scratch her with his stubble. He felt too big and clumsy pressing his lips to hers, having half-forgotten how it was done. The cashmere of the wrap she wore over her dress enveloped her in softness as he rested one hand on her upper arm and cupped her face with the other. Elise put her hands under his jacket and hauled him closer, urging him to kiss her deeper. He gathered her up in his arms, then, and pulled her body against his in a helpless outpouring of his longing.  

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Keeping Dana turned out to be a big mistake on Terje’s part. Kat didn't want the anxious dog in the house while Terje wasn't around, and Asbjørn had no time for her either. Terje hesitated a long time to take her along to his clients in his van a few days later. It embarrassed him that he couldn't trust his own dog at all, let alone control her. She barked through the half-open window at every animal that passed, and snarled at people with her lips drawn back over her teeth. By the time Terje got around to his second horse, he considered shutting the window against the noise. The horses wouldn’t stand still like this, and that was going to cost him his back.

He looked up from the hoof he clamped between his knees when two pairs of dusty jodhpurs stopped in his field of vision. Louise Aune had bags under her eyes and yawned when she wrapped an arm around her protégée Astrid. 

‘How are you, Terje? Did you have a nice weekend with the children?’

‘I didn't get to see them. Mia needed the time to buy them clothes for the wedding.’

Louise winced delicately. ‘How are you doing with that?’

‘As long as I get to see the kids next week...’

‘No, I mean that Mia's getting married again.’

Terje shrugged, and fished a cigarette from the breast pocket of his shirt. ‘I suppose I should send her a card, or something.’

Louise searched his face in confusion, but Astrid grinned and said: ‘Fill it with glitter. That way when they open it, they'll have to spend ages cleaning up.’

‘Do I look like the type of prick that has glitter lying around?’ Terje crammed his cigarette into his mouth. ‘Anyway, how was CHIO Rotterdam? I didn't catch the broadcast.’

Astrid pulled a face, but Louise squeezed her shoulders.

‘Astrid ranked ninth behind some _very_ seasoned jockeys. The goal was to make it to the jump-off, and she did exactly that, so I'm proud of her!’

‘I had twelve faults in the jump-off, Louise,’ Astrid muttered.

‘Just keep your eyes open, Astrid,’ Terje told her. ‘Louise’s brat didn't start winning until she was twenty-three.’

Louise chuckled and moved on, trailing Astrid behind her. 

Shortly after Terje got around to hammering the first horseshoe into shape on his anvil, the door of the manor opened. Elise pulled on her stable boots under the portico while Terje reheated the shoe in the furnace. Sparks flew and caught on his leather apron as he shaped it to fit the hoof he just trimmed. His hammering drowned out the sounds of a mountain bike whirring past. Elise's date and his dog headed towards the manor, reminding Terje of the unsolved mystery of his former neighbour. It was either a coincidence that Elise was seeing a ginger Frode, or the stories Terje's mother heard weren't true. This guy was too functional. Terje put it from his mind, and gently tapped the first nail into the hoof wall.

Dana stayed quiet until Terje put Astrid's horse back in his stable and returned with one of Louise's. The gentle brood mare went barefoot and had an adorable filly in a too big halter following her around. Dana had no tolerance for the new presence near the van. Terje tried to shut her up by telling her some reassuring nonsense, to no avail.

When he clipped ropes to the sides of the mare's halter, he noticed that Frode was watching him at a distance. The dog at his side did not let himself get caught up in Dana's madness, though his ears pricked in her direction. They approached when Terje put the filly at ease with a light back scratch.

‘Sorry about the noise,’ Terje muttered. ‘My new dog's a bit anxious. I rescued her from some crook breeder.’

Frode nodded. ‘Looks like she could use a distraction. I could take her for a walk.’

Terje regarded him for a moment. His age was just right, which Terje guessed to be around thirty, as was his remarkable collection of freckles.

‘We haven't been properly introduced, have we? Terje Hansen.’

‘Frode.’

There was no recognition in Frode's eyes as he clasped Terje's hand, nor did he offer his last name.

‘Solheim, right?’ Terje chanced.

Frode's eyes darted across Terje's face. ‘Stedjeberg.’

‘Oh,’ Terje said with a hint of dull disappointment. ‘I thought you were someone else for a second there.’

Frode hesitated. ‘Who are you, that you know me by my father's name?’

The thrill of being right after all conjured a grin onto Terje's face. ‘You used to live on the farm across the road.’

‘I'm sorry, I don't think I remember you.’

Terje studied Frode critically. He seemed as sober as anyone. And since he was dating Elise, perhaps Terje's mother had been wrong about him being gay as well. The calm restraint of his dog swayed Terje's judgement in Frode's favour. ‘If you want to take Dana, be my guest. I can't promise she won't try to eat your dog, though.’

‘Let her try,’ Frode said. He let Dana out of the van. Strider stoically ignored her, trailing Frode to the gates when he started walking. Dana scrabbled and barked fearfully at the end of the leash for a moment, but then followed Strider's example.

Terje breathed in relief in the sudden quiet, and lifted the mare's left forefoot to clean it out.

 

*******

The farrier's dog trotted along timidly up and down the road behind Frode. She didn't seem particularly vicious, but Frode got the idea she felt very insecure. After a few gentle corrections whenever she fell out of step, he stopped paying attention to her, trusting Strider's calm energy to keep her grounded.

As they walked, he racked his mind for memories of the time his father had been alive. Red barns with grey roofs came to the forefront of his thoughts, and a big oak tree with a tire swing, but not the faces or names of the four children that lived there.  

Curiosity drove him back to the stables after half an hour, but he didn't know what else to say to Terje, who was busy pulling the shoes off a tall jumper. Frode looped the end of the dogs' leashes around the leg of one of the chairs near the outdoor school, and took a seat to watch Elise at work. The horse she rode snorted and huffed, galloping around the three jumps as if he couldn't wait to have a go at them. Elise handled him with seemingly little effort. She moved with his big strides, only briefly lifting out of the saddle when he pushed off to soar over an obstacle. Still, her mother had enough to say about her technique, following her around the ring.

Frode turned around to watch the farrier when the sound of steel striking steel rung out across the yard. Terje made quick work of the actual shoeing, his motions efficient from practice and intuition. Once the jumper was shod, he spent some time rasping at the iron until the edges gleamed.

Leaving the dogs to lounge by the chair, Frode walked up to ask him about it. ‘What do you do that for?’

‘Aesthetic,’ Terje muttered around his cigarette.

Frode smiled, but the sudden, stony set of Terje's face told him it wasn't a joke. ‘I thought maybe it was so the horse doesn't cut his own legs.’

‘She won't.’ Terje folded his thick arms across his chest and jerked his head at Louise and Elise. ‘These ladies know what they want. The reason I work here, and not some other jerk, is because I know my shit, deliver solid work, _and_ I make it look good. So.’

Puzzled by Terje's defensiveness, Frode said: ‘It does look good.’

Terje began to gather up his tools, nodding mostly to himself.

Neither of them was alert on the Jack Russel terrier that followed a groom out of the stables and began to yip at Strider and Dana from a distance. Lunging with a snarl, the Doberman upended the chair and launched herself at the Jack Russel.

Frode sprinted to intercept her as soon as he saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, and dove for the leash when Dana threatened to outrun him. The Jack Russel saw its mistake in time, scrabbling as it wheeled around, which gave Frode a second more to consolidate his hold. He hauled Dana back before she could close her jaws on the terrier. She rounded on him instead, tearing at the hand that held her leash. After a brief struggle, she pulled back to bite again. Frode closed his hand around her jaws. He looped the leash around it as a makeshift muzzle.

Terje was at his side in an instant, cursing and apologising. He picked up the struggling dog to lock her away in his van, where she continued her mad barking.

‘You've got some decent reflexes,’ Terje said, reappearing to draw Frode around to the back of his van by the wrist of his bleeding hand. ‘Let me put a bandage on that. Have you gotten shots lately?’

‘I'll swing by the hospital later,’ Frode said. ‘I've got a prescription to fill, anyway.’

Terje inspected the bleeding teeth marks. They were nearly of a height, Frode noticed, though Terje looked bigger by grace of his broad back. His fingers were calloused and deeply embedded with dirt, but the way he held Frode's hand was gentle.

Terje washed the wound with water from a bottle. ‘I'll buy you a beer some time to make up for it, eh?’

‘There's no need,’ Frode said curtly.

Terje scrutinised him at that, with eyes as blue as hydrangea petals that held none of summer's warmth. ‘Don't drink anymore, do you?’

Frode's insides twisted into a knot at his tone. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I heard some stories about you. Have you stopped?’

‘What's it to you?’

Terje glanced towards Elise. ‘Does she know?’ 

‘I'll bring it up when the time is right. If I began every conversation by disclosing my personal issues, I'd never talk to anyone again.’

Terje wiped his hands on his jeans, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt with a stony face. ‘Don't make that someone else's problem.’

Frode wasn't about to let this man he barely knew dictate the terms of his conduct. ‘Am _I_ being a problem here? Is that what you're saying?’

Erratic barking still sounded from within Terje’s van.

‘What are you going to do about that dog?’ Frode pressed.

‘I don't know. I suspect the breeder roofied her to get me to take her, so I don't want to bring her back to that creep. I need more time to rehabilitate her.’

‘What you're doing now isn't working. You need to be more hands on.’

‘Easy for you to say, but I've got another dog, seven cats, fifty cows and three horses back at home. I own the farm now,’ he explained when Frode raised his eyebrows at the sheer number. 'My brother and sisters already had their own lives when my father retired, and he wanted it to stay in the family.’

‘Right.’

‘So tell me, where has life taken you since your family moved? How did you end up becoming the village drunk?’

Frode resisted the urge to punch Terje in his self-righteous face with difficulty. When his mother first mentioned people talking about him around town he hadn't cared, thinking it'd blow over in no time. He was nobody, and they'd forget about him. Now a cold dread rose in his gut at the thought of Elise finding out from this guy.

‘I don't like the way you're talking to me.’

‘Hey, come on,’ Terje began, but he fell silent when Elise appeared.  

‘What’s going on?’ she asked, looking between them.

Frode held his silence with his heart beating in his throat.  

Terje's gaze slid from Frode to Elise. ‘My dog’s misbehaved a bit.’

Elise took Frode's hand. ‘Terje, come on. You know better than to bring a liability here.’

‘I'm sorry. I won't bring her again,’ Terje promised solemnly, demure in the face of Elise's disapproval. He took Frode's hand from her to tape gauze over the wound.

‘Anyway,’ Elise went on. ‘Did you hear they’re bringing Imperious here the day before I go on tour?’

Terje cocked his head. ‘Already? Bet you wish you could stay to train with him.’

‘I’m actually looking forward to bringing Castlefield out for the first time in Göteborg.’

‘I told him I’m expecting him to hand you a big win over the Swedes.’

Elise laughed, turning in the direction of the manor. She beckoned Frode to follow. ‘About that tour... I was thinking it'd be such a shame if we didn't see each other all month.’

‘Yeah,’ Frode agreed, wrapping his arm around Elise's waist as they walked. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

‘You think there's a chance you could come to Göteborg so we can hang out? I have a couple of days there, and it's probably going to be stressful, but I'd feel better if we got to see each other at least once.’

‘Of course,’ Frode immediately promised. ‘I’ll make it happen.’

Elise let Strider in through the kitchen door and zipped out of her riding boots. ‘We can facetime, though, and I'll send you lots of texts in the meantime.’

Frode placed a kiss on top of her hair, which smelled of fresh straw and horses. ‘Just focus on what you have to do. I'll pine for the both of us.’

Elise asked Frode to stick around after dinner, when she was about to change out of her riding wear and shower. He hung around in the kitchen with the dogs for a while before moving to the sitting room with the impressive library and the mountain view.  

‘You've been quiet today,’ she remarked when she hopped across the back of the sofa and re-joined him.

Frode put the book he was leafing through away, and took her hairbrush from her. Circling around the sofa, he stood behind her to pull her wet hair into a plait. 

‘Where did you learn to do this, anyway?’ Elise asked. ‘I thought you said you only had brothers.’

Frode waited to speak until he tied the plait off. ‘Espen has long hair. Or had. He cut most of it off, because he got tired of dyeing it black.’

‘I like that you're not such a stereotypical guy,’ Elise said, studying the end of her tail. ‘Emil would never have done this. He was always afraid of crossing that boundary, you know? Between girl and guy things.’

‘You think that's part of the reason why it didn't work out?’

‘For sure. Once he figured out I made five times what he made in a year his ego never recovered. Not after he'd been dismissing my work as some rich girl's frivolous hobby.’

Frode put the hairbrush away. Elise was absolutely a frivolous rich girl when she wanted to be, but he liked her unapologetic femininity. Elise communicated her needs and expectations clearly despite the two of them being vitally different people, and that went a long way towards demystifying women in Frode's mind.  

‘How's that for you?’ Elise teased. ‘Aren't you intimidated by me?’

‘Girls used to intimidate me, before,’ Frode admitted. ‘I guess I had to date a guy to fully appreciate women as people instead of something to put on a pedestal unquestioningly.’

‘You dated a guy?’

The subtle distaste in Elise's tone of voice gave Frode pause.

‘Well, he was there during a pretty dark period of my life, and we... It didn't last.’

‘But you're not gay or anything?’

‘No,’ he said quickly, figuring that was what she wanted to hear. ‘It was a one-time thing. If anything, I’m bi with a preference for women.’

Elise regarded him with a measure of scepticism. ‘Then why haven't we... you know?’

Colour rose in her cheeks as Frode waited for her to finish her sentence. She didn't.

‘There's something you should know about me,’ Frode began. ‘I told you my brothers and I were involved in an accident two years ago, right? I was responsible for what happened to Espen, and had a really hard time moving on from the guilt. I'm still dealing with the fallout.’

Elise pulled her legs to her chest and studied him with her chin on her knees.

‘And what I said about being in between jobs... The truth is that I've been on sick leave since November of 2014.’

Elise pressed her lips together with a troubled expression. ‘That's a long time. Must have been pretty serious, then.’

‘It was a struggle to find the right treatment at first, but I'm down to half my original dose now.’

‘Dose of what?’

‘Antidepressants.’

‘Right, I heard that messes with your libido,’ Elise said quietly. ‘So it's not me? Or because you're gay?’

‘No, absolutely not,’ Frode said, pulling her close with one arm. ‘But I've been on meds for so long that I don't know what would happen. I haven't been with anyone since I started taking them.’

‘Wow. Why didn't you tell me?’

‘I was hoping we could get to know each other a bit better before bringing this up.’

As Frode kissed her hair, Elise allowed herself a small smile. ‘Is this your way of saying I need to be extra nice to you?’

He scratched the stubble under his chin as he thought. ‘No. This is my way of saying that I like the way things are. When I'm with you all that gets muted, because I want to focus on you.’

‘I wouldn't mind you focussing on me some more.’ Elise ran a hand down his stomach, and playfully tugged the waistband of his jeans. ‘Why don't you stay the night? We'll see what happens.’

Frode followed her up to her bedroom, mesmerised by the sway of her hips on the stairs. Elise closed the door behind him and threaded her hands in his hair, her energy changing from affectionate to erotic in the span of a heartbeat. Unzipping her hoodie to reveal athletic brand underwear and nothing else sparked something in the pit of Frode's stomach, something he couldn't take for granted anymore since the antidepressants first began to mess with his brain. It flickered and guttered out as soon as he thought about it, but it had been there. He hooked his thumbs behind the waistband of Elise's jogging pants where it rode low on her hips, and opened himself to the possibility of it happening again. His lips met soft resistance when he leaned in. He let the kiss linger for a moment, then moved down to kiss her neck, and the swell of her breasts in the sports top. 

Elise pulled him closer by the shoulders, cradling his head against her chest. Her heart beat rapidly against his cheek, but his own was quickly catching up to speed. 

The spark, that guttering flame, was back when he wrapped arms around her ribcage and mouthed her nipple through the fabric of her top. The press of Elise's body against his was terrifying in its significance. Out of all the trouble he'd had finding partners before, not being able to perform had never held him back. Allowing himself to be so vulnerable in her presence now felt like building a campfire in the snow, sheltering a precarious flame in the bleak, blistering cold. But Frode was no stranger to harsh conditions, and not inclined to admit defeat.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Kat stopped Terje from reaching for his car keys when he tried to leave for the Aune stables after having successfully pawned Dana off to Asbjørn for the rest of the afternoon.

‘I thought you said you didn't have any appointments today.’

Terje innocently held up his hands. ‘I don't. I'm going to look at Elise's new horse before she leaves.’

‘Are you sure? There's only so much work you can do before you really hurt your back. I keep telling you that you need to be careful.’

‘And I listen.’ Terje grabbed the keys to his pickup truck rather than his van and dangled them in front of her face in a show of goodwill.

Kat took his wrist, and held it as she lowered it to the side. ‘I want you to be careful.’

Terje pulled away before the hand she reached up with could caress his face. ‘Thanks for the reminder!’

Outside, he leaned against his pickup in indecision for a moment. Even he wasn't blind enough to not see that Kat was getting bolder in flirting with him. He couldn't begin to imagine why she would, having seen all his marital issues up close, but he needed to find a way to nip it in the bud before it became a distraction.

On the road to the Aune stables, he drove past a man walking his dog in the mild drizzle. There was no mistaking that Belgian Shepherd, even though Frode had the hood of his jacket up. Terje still owed him an apology.

‘Isn't that monster here yet?’ Terje asked when he encountered Louise in the mostly deserted stables, sweeping the aisles with a large broom. Elise’s father and grooms had left for the airport with her horses earlier that day. 

‘It's slow going through the mountains with such precious cargo, I guess.’

Terje bent to pick up the hay a docile brown spilled on the wrong side of the door. The horse nosed his hand, tickling his palm with soft lips. Terje toyed with his forelock and stroked the long ears that lazily swivelled back and forth. The horse looked towards the entrance before Terje picked up on another set of footsteps through the rain.

Frode pushed down his hood and shook out his hair, dark with rain water.

‘Frode,’ Louise said with a smile, ‘just the man I need. Have you seen Elise?’

‘She was on the phone in her office when I left, but that was a while ago.’

Louise nodded. ‘One more thing... You're tall. Can you reach that swallow's nest up there?’

Frode looked up to where she pointed at the overhead beams, then climbed up the vertical bars of a stall to take it down with the ease of a freerunner. _Or a burglar_ , Terje thought. Who knew what that guy did to support his shady habits in the past?

Louise left to dispose of the nest when Frode handed it to her, running through the rain to the containers outside.

‘About the other day...’ Terje said to Frode.

Frode lowered his eyes and scratched his jaw uneasily. ‘Never mind that. You had a point. I talked to Elise about it.’

Terje glanced around to see if Elise happened to be within earshot. ‘And you're still around. Good for you.’

An alarm sounded from Frode's phone. Frode muted and pocketed it. His dog promptly began to bark. ‘Now's not a good time,’ he muttered as the dog circled him, barking loudly. ‘Strider. Hey. You're embarrassing me.’

He fished a rumpled strip of sorts from his back pocket when the dog didn't let up, and popped a pill into his mouth. The dog quit barking.

Terje crouched down to draw the dog's attention, and pet Strider's lush coat when he approached to sniff Terje’s face. ‘Is he a service dog or something? How did you train him so well?’

Frode shrugged. ‘I have a lot of time on my hands.’

‘Dana seems to be doing better. I created a routine for her so she knows what's coming. And I'm making sure she gets more exercise.’

Frode nodded. ‘I got the idea that she feels more at ease when she's being kept busy.’

‘She'll start to trust me when she figures out I’ll care for her consistently,’ Terje said with more confidence than he felt. He still had no solution for when his children came over.           

Outside, the heavy engine of a truck drowned out the drumming rain. Frode followed Terje outside to watch the new arrival. The long awaited Imperious came stomping down the tailgate of the truck, alert but calm next to his handler. The dappled grey stallion was on the ugly side for Terje's tastes, but no one cared about that with all his recent wins in show jumping.

Elise hurried out of the manor and skidded to a halt at Terje's side, very nearly bouncing up and down in excitement. She approached with fearless curiosity though the massive stallion dwarfed her. The moment she took Imperious' rope from the handler they were best pals. Imperious lowered his big head to Elise's level as they ambled towards the stables, splashing through puddles of the freshly fallen rain. The sight lifted Terje's heart a little.

‘She's something else,’ he said to Frode, who nodded in agreement. ‘You'd better treat her right.’

Terje fished his car keys from the pocket of his jeans and wished Louise and the horse handlers a good weekend. He nudged Frode, who still stood staring after Elise with a soft expression. ‘Bye.’

Frode held up his hand in greeting, consolidating their unspoken truce. ‘Yeah, see you.’

 

*******

Terje was busy inspecting the milk tank on Saturday morning when a drawn-out wail outside startled him. He ran from the barn in the direction of the oak tree, where he'd last seen Jakob saw something for his treehouse. His footsteps echoed heavily between the barn buildings as he rounded the corner, breathing hard. Jakob wasn’t where Terje expected him to be, but clutched his arm just outside the range of Dana's chain. A couple of meters away, Sam and Dana fought over something. Dana got her jaw around Sam’s throat and shook him with the intention to kill.

Reaching Jakob, Terje grabbed him under his arms and dragged him further out of harm's way. Jakob hid his tear-streaked face against Terje's sternum when Terje held his bloody arm up for inspection. Teeth marks shredded his wrist. There was no mistaking how he got hurt.

An urgent yelp from Sam drew his attention back to the dogs. Terje lunged for Dana's collar. She released Sam after a short struggle, barking fearfully. Pain lanced through Terje's left arm where she bit him, hanging on as he unhooked her collar. Terje punched her in the nose until she let go, and dragged her away, cursing the dog to hell and back. He threw her in an empty stable in the horse barn. Deafening barks followed him outside.   

Sam had made his way over to Jakob, who wrapped an arm around the old dog and cried against his shoulder. Clotting blood matted Sam's greying coat down his front.

Kat came running, too, her face drawn in shock.

‘I need to take Jakob to the hospital,’ Terje told her. ‘Can you take care of Sam?’

He gathered Jakob up in his arms and carried him to the scullery, where he cleaned most of the blood off the wound and wrapped a clean tea towel around it. After washing his own bloody forearm, Terje rolled down the sleeve of his denim shirt over the bite.

The throbbing wound reminded him to ask if Jakob was hanging in there, once they were on the road to the hospital. Jakob nodded, white-faced.

Entering the waiting room of the ER, Terje became acutely aware that he reeked of cow, and that Jakob had twigs in his hair and leaf mulch sticking to his clothes. Covering their muddy boots with the blue shoe covers seemed barely adequate. He avoided eye-contact with the other patients, feeling like the worst father in the world. He should've been clearer that the kids weren't allowed near Dana. He thought they'd get it, after he explained why she was guarding the farm at the end of a chain while they were there.

‘It was my fault, dad,’ Jakob whispered. ‘I teased her.’

Terje sighed. ‘What happened?’

‘She had one of her ears inside out, and I thought it looked funny. I did the other ear, too. She shook her head to make it right again. I did it a couple times. When I laughed, she bit me.’

‘It's like I haven't taught you anything about animals.’

‘I'm sorry, dad. Are you going to punish me?’

‘I reckon you've been punished enough once the doctor is done with you.’

‘And Dana?’

‘This is the second time she bit someone. Third, if you count what she did to Sammy. She needs to be put down.’

‘That's not fair!’

‘No,’ Terje agreed. ‘I wish it would've been different.’

Jakob quietly bore the shots and the stitches a young doctor administered. The doctor asked about Terje's arm, which was starting to scab over with clotted blood, but Terje mentioned he'd gotten shots last winter after freeing an ungrateful fox from the chicken coop fence.

Back at the farm, Terje ordered Jakob into the house. Ignoring the incessant barking in the barn, he picked up a spade and laid it over his shoulder. Near the trees at the edge of the fallow field, Terje stuck the spade in the earth. He dug and sifted stones from the earth for the better part of an hour. Part of him balked at what he needed to do, but if he didn't, Mia would certainly have it done in a way that involved the authorities, paperwork, and money.

Dana's bark had something rabid to it when he entered the barn, and though it was aggression born of fear, Terje forced himself not to examine it too closely. He fridged his feelings and loaded the rifle with something heavier than bird shot. He had to pull the trigger twice before she went down.

Crouching in the clean straw, Terje took off her collar. He sat down heavily and pulled her into his lap to smooth her features. The horror of having to shoot such a beautiful creature in cold blood briefly overwhelmed him. This was the first time he hadn't been able to fulfil the implicit promise he made every animal he took in.

He carried Dana to the hole at the edge of the field, and covered the grave so the children wouldn't have to see exactly what a piece of shit their father was.

Jakob had trouble falling asleep that night. While Terje wanted nothing more than to sit quietly for a minute, he was forced to climb the stairs time and again to soft calls from the landing. Terje gave him some painkillers for his arm, hoping that that would help him sleep.

‘Listen, Jake,’ he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘I know you feel guilty about Dana. Teasing an animal is bad, but her biting you that hard was unacceptable. If it was a little nip, I would’ve said you had it coming, but the way she maimed Sammy when he stood up for you shows she wasn't right in the head.’

He placed a kiss on Jakob's hair, and rose.

Jakob propped himself up with his good arm. ‘Do dogs go to heaven?’

Terje lingered in the doorway. ‘If heaven is real, all dogs deserve to go there. It wasn’t Dana’s fault that she had a shit life.’

Terje heard Kat talk to her mother on the phone in the kitchen. He could make out the Polish words that meant _dogs_ and _children_ , and a few other words he passively picked up over the years. She fiddled with the small, golden cross around her neck as she watched him cross the kitchen to the fridge. When he held up a beer to ask if she wanted one, she nodded. Terje popped the caps off on the edge of the counter. Mia hated it when he did that. It was weird how much he still felt her disapproval like she was there in the room with him.

Early on Sunday evening, just as he and Asbjørn finished milking, Mia's footsteps rang on the concrete of the barn floor. Terje took her to the house to talk while the kids ate dinner.

‘Something bad happened yesterday,’ Terje confessed while she frowned at him. ‘I got a new dog to take over Sam's work, but I misjudged her character. She bit Jake.’

Mia's mouth worked silently for a moment. ‘This is exactly the sort of thing I fear is going to happen every time I leave the children here, Terje! You're too busy working to pay attention, and they get hurt!’

‘They're ten and eight years old, Mia. You didn't watch them every second of the day when we still lived here together. Don't put that on me.’

‘Look at your son's arm! That could have been his neck! They're not coming over again if that means I'm lying awake wondering whether my children are safe every other weekend.’

‘You can't do that! You can't stop me from seeing our kids!’

‘You can bloody well come see them in Hamar,' Mia said over the children's dismayed voices, ‘so you can actually pay attention to them.’ 

‘You know it's impossible for me to spend any amount of quality time with them in Hamar.’

‘I don't care where you find the time. Are you a farmer first or a father?’

‘You don't own our kids, Mia. I got rid of the dog. There’s no reason they can’t come over again!’

Despite everything that happened, Jakob pushed away from the table and ran to Terje, pressing himself against his side. ‘I want to be with dad!’ he yelled at Mia. ‘This is why I don't talk to you. You make a problem out of everything!’

‘Hey,’ Terje chided, trying to deescalate the situation. ‘You've got to respect that mothers are different from fathers in that way. We both love you guys more than anything, but Mum is just shocked. Remember how upset we all were yesterday? In two weeks I'm going to come pick you up again, and if you guys want to go to the farm, that's where we'll go.’

‘It’s like I don’t even know you anymore,’ Mia said in a shaking voice. ‘What happened to the man I married?’

Terje looked at her sharply. ‘You’ve never known me at all.’

 

*******

The abandoned farm was slowly losing a battle against nature. Weeds and grasses had already reclaimed all of the land, and between the tire tracks of the pitted dirt road, new greenery sprung up. The faded paint of the once bright red barns peeled badly in places. Rather than making him more melancholic, Frode found the sight reassured him.

A greying German shepherd stiffly wrung his body through the slats of the crude wooden gate Frode leaned on, and made his way to Strider, sniffing about in the tall grass. 

‘Is it weird to see the place in such a state?’ asked a voice.

Frode turned his head to see Terje lighting a cigarette behind his hand, squinting against the sun. The sour smell of dairy cows clung to his clothes, a faded, checkered button down tucked into threadbare mud-spattered jeans, but Frode minded the smoke more when Terje leaned on the gate next to him.  

‘It’d be weirder to see another family live there.’

‘One did, for the longest time, but none of the kids wanted the business. The guy who had it after couldn't stay afloat when the milk prices kept dropping.’

Frode nodded. ‘Tough.’       

‘It is. Me and my nephew are looking to go organic to get a better price, but as it is, I really need that shoeing gig to make the investment.’

‘Makes you wonder why anyone bothers at all.’

‘It’s lucrative enough when you're smart about it, but supporting my ex-wife and the kids is a drain every month. Makes me almost glad she's getting married again. It's just the kids, then.’

‘You have a lot of kids?’

Terje pulled his wallet out of his back pocket with a grin. ‘We wanted a big family, but it turned out two was all we could handle.’

He showed Frode a school portrait of a boy and a girl with brown eyes and thick, honey blond hair.

‘They're great, though. I try to have them over every other weekend.’

‘You miss having them around?’

‘I don't miss having to rush milking to drive them to school and stuff, but it's really quiet around meal time, you know? I guess they need to be with their mother most, but I wish she hadn't moved so far away.’ Terje exhaled a cloud of acrid smoke. ‘You missing your old man today?’

Frode plucked at a splinter in the weathered wood. ‘Yeah. Sometimes I want to be able to ask him for advice on how to deal with certain things, but then I remember his way of dealing with things wasn’t exactly exemplary. I'm older now than he was when he died. That's a weird feeling.’

‘I’ll bet.’ Terje rubbed the smouldering butt of his cigarette on the gate, extinguishing it.  ‘It's about time for coffee. Come on.’

Frode gave the abandoned farm one last look, then followed Terje through the wild meadow. Terje picked up his old dog like a baby, carrying him across the road while giving him an affectionate belly scratch. Part of the dog's coat had been shaved, and Frode saw scarring around his throat.

‘Is Dana around?’ he asked over the crunching of their shoes on Terje's gravel driveway.

‘No. Not anymore.’

‘Did she bite your other dog?’

‘And my son.’

‘What did you do?’

Terje passed under a wash line of drying clothes. ‘I put a bullet in her skull before my wife could use it as a reason to keep the kids away from me. It was a fucking shame.’

Frode’s mouth gaped in horror. ‘You shot her? Is that even legal?’

‘What else should I have done?’

‘You should've given her to me! I would've straightened her out for you.’

Terje glanced back at Frode. ‘I’ll think of you next time I want to see what happens when you put a junkie and a rabid dog in close quarters.’

‘You know what, Terje? Get fucked.’ Frode turned around and began walking back the way he came. ‘Say what you want about me, but shooting a dog is barbaric.’

‘Hey, don’t be like that.’ Terje grabbed Frode's arm before he could leave, yanking him along with an iron grip.

Instantly triggered to lash out, Frode blindly mowed with his fist. Even though it wasn’t his intention to immediately punch Terje in the throat, he felt his knuckles graze Terje’s Adam’s apple. Terje wasted no time retaliating with a right hook to Frode's temple when he overcame the shock. As pain sent a dull throb through his skull, Frode grabbed a handful of Terje’s shirt to keep standing. He had to fight against the advancing blackout of his vision. In the time it took for his eyes to focus again, Terje wrestled him to the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs.

Strangely, Terje grinned down at him as if he was enjoying himself. Sitting over Frode on his knees, he slapped Frode's face with alternating hands, not hard enough to hurt, but rather to playfully assert dominance. ‘I thought you'd be stronger. Is this what it's like to be the oldest brother?’

‘Get off me, puppy killer.’

When Terje didn't comply, Frode tried yanking Terje’s arm out from under him to unbalance him, but Terje’s sheer weight and strength lost Frode the element of surprise. Reduced to aimless pulling and shoving in the hopes it’d accomplish anything, he slowly realised Terje had him pinned. He cursed when Terje held one of his arms down with a knee, crushing his right bicep at the point of contact.  

All he could do was let Terje slap him with his own hand, suffering the delighted laughter it evoked, and wait until Terje shifted his weight. When he did so to relieve his knee, Frode grabbed a handful of Terje’s sandy curls and bucked. Terje made and involuntary somersault, landing on his back in the grass.

‘Terje!’ called a female voice with a heavy accent. ‘What on earth is going on?’  

Terje scrambled up and hauled Frode upright by his arm. He introduced Frode to a short little woman with cold, Slavic features, laughing all the while. ‘This is Katarzyna. She works on the farm. Kat, this is Frode. Frode is having a rough day. Year. Life?’

‘Shut up.’

With a hand on the back of Frode’s neck, Terje led him around the farmhouse. ‘You need to stop being so easily offended if we are to get along.’

Frode slapped his arm away when they passed underneath a second wash line, which Terje took as an opportunity to grab him by the shoulders and jump onto his back. Staggering under the weight, Frode resigned himself to giving Terje a piggyback ride to the circle of old lawn chairs by the back door.


	8. Chapter 8

Driving home with the puppy he had been on the waitlist for since Dana's death, Terje’s inexplicable unease persisted. Kat held the floppy-eared German shepherd named Nora on her lap in the passenger seat, stroking the pup’s black and tan coat.

‘Don't you just hate separating them from their mothers when they're still babies?’

Terje glanced at Nora. ‘We can't really know what's going on in their head, now, can we? All I know is that Sam grew up alright. He seemed happy enough all his life.’

‘Sometimes I worry that what we do to animals is like slavery.’

Terje thought about that notion for a long moment. ‘I don't know, Kat. In a way we're all brought into a world that exploits us against our will.’

‘That pretty philosophical for a farmer.’

‘You're pretty philosophical for a farm hand.’

‘I keep telling you we're a good match.’

Terje didn't acknowledge the remark, but it bugged him all the way home.

Kat cornered him again that evening, after he made sure Nora was settled in her crate and sleeping comfortably. She took his hand when he was about to ascend the stairs to bed. 'Are you shy, Terje?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Why don't you kiss me?’

Terje looked into her eyes, a murky greenish brown that clashed a little with the artificial blond of her hair. ‘I'm not ready for this, Kat,’ he said slowly. ‘Mia... I'm not over it. I don't want to remarry.’

‘Who said anything about marrying?’

‘I need more time.’

It was a stupid thing to say, and unfair to give her hope. But what could he say to remove that hope while leaving their work relationship and Kat's self-esteem intact?

She stood on tiptoes to try kiss his cheek. Terje bent down to allow it.

Terje’s dreams, when he slept, gradually devolved into madness. He was searching for Jakob, knowing he’d left him somewhere and forgotten him. The high grass of the pasture slowed his steps like water. He would never forgive himself for abandoning Jakob as if his existence had been temporarily struck from his mind. What had he been doing that was so important? Important enough to forget his son? Cries sounded from the filthy pond he suddenly stumbled upon. Relief flooded him. Jakob was there, he'd found him. He was still alive. Terje waded waist deep into the pond that felt more like a bog with every step he took.

Suddenly they were out. He was rinsing Jakob in the tub, sluicing off green, slimy water. Jakob was hurt and cried, but he didn't bleed. From the wounds in his bloated arm crawled maggots and leeches. _This is insane_ , Terje thought to himself. _This is not real. I need to wake up_.

He woke with a gasp, raising his head from his pillow in the dark bedroom. His back cramped and his hands shook with adrenaline. The cries hadn't stopped upon waking. It took him a minute to recognise them for what they were. Nora.

_It's just the pup_ , Terje deliberately thought. _She'll go back to sleep._

He pitied her, alone in her crate with only a blanket that smelled of the nest she shared with her mother and siblings. It seemed unnecessarily cruel in the small hours of the night. After some five minutes passed without the intensity of the cries tapering off, Terje padded downstairs to the cool kitchen, his bare feet slapping on the tiles. Nora's little tail began beating against the bars of the crate when she heard his voice. Sam was nowhere to be seen. He'd likely hid in the living room to get away from the noise.

‘Hey little rascal, you're waking the whole farm. If you want anyone to play with you tomorrow you'd better sleep, or we'll all be too tired.’

Terje scratched her head through the bars, and sat with her for a while.

When Nora fell back asleep, he snuck out of the kitchen through the moonlit hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, through the glass next to the front door, Terje noticed movement on the farm yard. He was at the door in two steps, and unlocked it as quietly as he could.

Outside it was quiet, except for the summer wind rustling leaves. Then he heard it. The sound of cows getting up and milling about in the barn. Alarmed mooing.

‘Asbjørn! Kat!’ Terje bellowed up the stairs. He rushed outside, cursing himself halfway to the barn for not taking a kitchen knife, or the rifle.

The heavy door of the barn stood ajar. Terje slammed the light switches on the wall in rapid succession, flooding the barn with light. A dark-clad figure running to the back of the barn ripped open a door and dashed through. 

There was shouting outside. The sound of boots running across the concrete trailed off. Terje ran to the door as fast as his bare feet allowed. As he cleared the back door, gunshots went off in the closest pasture. A running figure went down against the dark backdrop of the tree line. Kat reloaded and fired again.

‘I can't see him anymore,’ she panted when she lowered the rifle.  

They ran, following the trespasser's trajectory as far as Kat had seen it, until they met up with Asbjørn at the end of the pasture. Trees provided convenient cover for a man on the run. Asbjørn held a faded hoodie.

‘Sorry,’ he panted. ‘I had him, but that shot scared me to death.’

Terje clasped their shoulders, steadying Asbjørn and Kat as much as himself. ‘At least you gave him a taste of what awaits him if he tries something again.’

He returned to the barn to survey the damage. It didn't take him long to single out the frightened cow that bled from underneath her tail. From the look of it, the intruder had shoved a knife right into her genitals. Terje rushed to put on his coveralls and boots, and rang the vet.

‘Shall I call the police?' Kat asked.

‘Please, that’d be great.’

Terje tended to the cow’s wound as best as he could, cleaning the area with antibacterial soap, while he waited for the vet. Trine looked pale and horrified when she stepped into the uneven light of the barn. Terje took pictures of the cow's injuries to go with her report, though it revolted him to look at them.

'Sorry I had to wake you up for this,' Terje said as Trine stitched up the cow with a steady hand.

'I feel violated just looking at it.'

Terje nodded grimly. 'You're not the only one.'

A cop car arrived soon after Kat made the call to report the incident.

‘It pains me to say that we have no leads on who is carrying out these attacks,' detective Haugland said, glancing around the barn.

Terje believed him. Haugland looked like a man of action; a little older and squat, but with a hard face and the eyes of a hawk.

'I have something that might help. My nephew got his hands on this.' Terje handed over the faded hoodie.

Haugland's associate took it. 'This might be something to go on.’

Drawing hope from that, Terje led them around the barn, describing what had happened and showing them the photo's he took.

After the cops left to search the area, Terje stayed up all night, patrolling the barn yard with the rifle. Rationally, he knew that it was unlikely for that psycho to return, but it made him feel like he was doing something. It wasn't as if he'd be able to sleep.

The next morning, all residents of the farm had to come to the police station to have their testimony written up. Terje had never been inside the police station; never had any encounters with the department of justice save a few speeding tickets in the mail. Waiting for Kat to finish giving her statement, he studied the officers that came and went, and thought about Frode getting locked up in here before they carted him off to the loony bin. Terje idly wished he’d seen him fight the cops. Frode packed a punch, that much he knew after suppressing an awkward cough all day when Frode nearly crushed his windpipe.

Back at home, another unpleasant surprise waited for Terje. His father's car sat in the driveway. A distant, cold revulsion settled in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the tall, gaunt figure casting his gaze about as he slowly walked up the laneway. Terje urged Asbjørn and Kat to get back to work, straightened his back and headed his father off. Terje squeezed his father's hand borderline painfully in greeting. 'Surprise inspection?'

Eyes that lost their colour with age bored into Terje’s. 'Why did I have to hear what happened last night from Lars, Torgeir?'

'It didn't occur to me to call you. There's nothing you could've done.'

'I built this place for you, don't forget that.'

'Yes, thank you, dad.' 

'Let me see what happened.'

Terje opened the barn door for his father. He pretended not to notice his father's swivelling gaze as they walked, like a bird of prey scoping out a target.

'I told you that old dog of yours was no good anymore.'

'And I listened. I got a second dog, but...'

'But what?' his father demanded, smelling weakness.

'She's still a puppy. She's the reason I didn't sleep through the entire thing in the first place. It could have been much worse.'

His father looked at him long and hard. 'It wouldn't have happened at all if you'd listened to me sooner. You need to get on top of things for once in your life. You're letting this place go to hell, leaving an eighteen year old in charge all day because you're too busy doing everything but your job.'

'I'm not,' Terje said firmly. 'Everything's in a better state than how you left it, from the house to the animals to the shoddy equipment you were too cheap to upgrade in your day.'

He willed himself not to duck out of habit at the look that crossed his father's face. He still remembered the pain of a sharp seal ring backed by a hard fist.

'We'll see if you're doing better than me when I take a look at your bookkeeping.'

'Fine,' Terje bluffed, hoping it wouldn't come to that. His father would accept no excuses for the current balance.

When his father pushed open the barn door and honed in on the maimed cow, Terje took a deep breath. 'Actually, you know what? We're going to have coffee and you can be on your way.'

Terje wasn't certain what warranted the expression of loathing his father seemed to reserve for him. Perhaps he suspected something. Perhaps in his heart he knew the biggest disappointment still lay in wait.

'How's it going with that plan of yours to go organic?' His father spat out the words as if it was the biggest nonsense he'd ever had the displeasure to hear.

'Asbjørn deserves the credit for that idea, but it's going great.' Lying was second nature to Terje and his siblings, and he felt no guilt about it.

'Why don't you call the children?' his father asked when Terje set coffee in front of him.

'They’re not here. They're on holiday with Mia.'

Mia made good on her silent promise that Terje wouldn't see the kids any time soon. He had expected some kind of resistance, which was why he called in advance the previous week, but he didn't even get to speak to Mia. The kids' enthusiasm about her carefully laid holiday plans was the biggest _fuck you_ she had given Terje in a long while. They couldn't come to the farm, Emma told him on the phone. They were going to France to see real fairy-tale castles.

Terje called Mia in the evening, after the kids' bedtime.

'Remember that time you nearly let Emma drown in the stream, Mia? While you were racking up phone bills?'

A sullen silence fell as Mia, too, recalled that horrible afternoon some eight years ago.

'Accidents happen. So why don't you tell me the real reason we can't at least be friends anymore?'

Mia took a deep breath. 'Because you destroyed my self-worth!'

'How?' Terje exclaimed. 'You've always been my favourite person in the world, and I don't think I ever treated you like less!'

'You never even touched me anymore after we had Jake. Do you have any idea how that made me feel?'

'You're mad because I didn't sleep with you enough?'

'Listen to me, Terje Hansen,' Mia hissed. 'You may have been good at covering your tracks, but I know for ninety-nine percent sure that you got it with some other woman.'

Terje didn't gainsay her. The misunderstanding suited him better than the truth.

'I never made an issue out of you sleeping around,' he said instead.

'I wanted it to be you,' Mia suddenly wept, 'but you always had some stupid excuse.'

Terje was still moved by her tears after all that time. 'I'm sorry I made you feel that way. But know that I still love and respect you as much-'

'You just brushed me aside after I bore your children.'

It took quite some pleading to persuade Mia to let him see the kids at her house that Friday. Jake showed him that his sutures had dissolved. He compared them to the raw, pinkish skin of Terje's scars as they took a walk outside and ate ice cream. Terje left them with some extra pocket money and magazines that Kat picked out for them to read on the journey to France. Even though he'd seen them only briefly, he was happy for them. They could finally go on the sort of vacation that his work always prevented them from having as a family.

Looking over his father's shoulder at the postcard Emma and Jakob sent him from Chateau Chambord on his fridge, Terje felt a hint of satisfaction. All in all, he had a good relationship with his children, based on unconditional love and respect for them as individuals. At least he was doing better than his father in that respect.

When Terje’s father departed, Asbjørn stuck his head into the kitchen, lowering his eyes timidly. 'I told my dad. I'm sorry.'

Terje got up and squeezed his shoulder in passing. 'It's not your fault your grandfather is like that. Don't worry about it.'

He trudged upstairs, tiredness catching up with him with every step. On the landing, Kat emerged from her bathroom.

'Are you okay, Terje?'

He nodded. 'Just tired.'

She hugged him, circling her arms around his waist. Terje couldn't help himself. He rested his chin on top of her head, and hugged her back tightly.


	9. Chapter 9

Frode got a call from Terje Hansen the week after they fought on his lawn. Terje called him a tour widower and invited him to come watch the Grand Prix in Denmark to kill the time until Elise returned to the country. Frode still wasn't sure whether he could trust Terje, who seemed to think pushing his buttons was a wonderful game, but he'd gone anyway. Sniffing around the farm was a treat for Strider, and Terje had a new puppy that was the cutest thing Frode had ever seen.

During the commercial break in the broadcast, Terje showed him old pictures of his horse in action with Louise Aune, and told him that his niece and nephew had jumped really well in the junior categories a few years back. They had a pretty good time once Terje forgot who he was talking to. 

After that evening, it took two more weeks of living from phone call to phone call before Frode could finally go to see Elise in Göteborg. He'd watched every one of her shows whenever the sports channel had an equestrian broadcast, but seeing her without being able to touch or talk only increased his lonely pining.

The time apart from Elise was apparently all the motivation he needed to get on the road again for the first time in a long while. He hadn’t gone anywhere since his last camping trip with Daniel, and hadn’t even left town since Espen moved to Oslo. But now that he had Elise, he barely spared a thought for challenging his previous limitations.

Out of curiosity, Frode had once asked her why she decided to send him a message after they first met. Elise admitted with a giddy sort of embarrassment that she thought his body looked good in sportswear, and that she’d just wanted to hook up. ‘But once we got talking,’ she’d said, ‘it turned out you were exactly the kind of gentle, supportive man I’ve been looking for for years.’

Frode had almost laughed at that admission, thinking about the unrest and violence that always seemed to follow in his wake, but truth be told, he felt immensely thankful that she saw him the way he knew he could be – the way he wanted to be.

Their initial reunion in Sweden was brief, as Elise was preparing for the show that afternoon, but he managed to get in a good squeeze as they exchanged a couple of heated kisses inside the black horse truck. He walked away breathing hard and impatient to get her into bed tonight. The minimal dose of Sertraline he still took no longer held him back.

The stands were packed when the international jumping began. The majority of people attending the horse event had crowded around the ring to see their favourites jump the daunting one metre sixty fences. Frode managed to find a seat with a good view of the arena in time, and texted Espen back to thank him for the sleepover in Oslo during the wait for the competition to kick off. He'd left too early that morning for Espen to register his departure.  

He felt a sympathetic nervousness roil in the pit of his stomach when the commentator introduced Elise after the rider before her knocked down the last fence and disappeared under polite applause.

Entering the ring at a measured trot, Elise greeted the jury and spurred her horse to a canter. She circled a set of fences at a collected, almost slow pace, and then took off towards the first obstacle. Castlefield cleared the fence at a very decent height, his black tail streaming behind him. Elise's sure hands pulled him back together upon landing, and guided him towards the next jump, a wide oxer.

'Such a stylish rider, Elise,' a lady behind Frode said to someone in English. 'I think the word fabulous is overused, but she really is a fabulous jockey...'

Frode smiled to himself. Elise would love to hear that later.

They approached the oxer fast, and though Castlefield hesitated for a split-second, causing a drop in speed, he kicked off with tremendous power, which allowed him to clear the obstacle anyway. His horseshoes flashed in the overhead lights as his hind legs stretched behind him.

Entranced by the way Elise swerved her horse and lifted out of the saddle as the stallion leapt, Frode followed Castlefield across the colourful fences. While it looked like they were on their way to a clear round, during the second half of the course Castlefield got heavier in Elise's hand, throwing up his head and trying to run away from under her. Elise sat back as the horse stormed towards a triple fence obstacle, trying to rein him in. The first uncontrolled jump was a clear, but Castlefield caught the top rail of the second with his belly. Elise tried to correct the awkward stumble upon landing, but Castlefield lost his rhythm. He jumped too soon, after one stride instead of three, unbalancing Elise and crashing straight through the top of the third fence.

A collective gasp went through the spectators. One of the fence's rails broke on impact with the horse's rump, and the rest scattered in different directions. Elise was launched from the saddle when Castlefield went down, but the horse had so much momentum that he rolled over and crushed her under his rump, mowing his hind legs in the air. Castlefield scrabbled up. Elise did not.

Frode got to his feet in the stands on shaky legs. The helplessness of watching the fall from afar felt horribly familiar. Medics ran into the ring to check on Elise. She seemed able to talk to them, and shook her head at questions they asked. With their help, she sat up. One of her grooms caught Castlefield, who trotted nervously towards the exit, reins swinging. Elise let the medics help her up and took off her helmet. She walked out of the arena unassisted, to applause of the relieved onlookers, whom she acknowledged with a little wave.

Frode left the stands and hurried around the arena. A groom led him to where Elise stiffly inspected Castlefield. Frode waited, unobtrusive but anxious as a veterinarian came and went and Elise instructed the grooms to take the horse to walk of any resulting stiffness. Considering the impact of the fall, both horse and rider made it out of the ring fairly unscathed. Frode had feared the horse's legs would snap like matchsticks when parts of the broken fence caught between them. 

Elise was quiet when Frode escorted her back to the hotel, and he had no idea what to say to her either. She sagged against the wall in the lift when no one was around to see her.

'How are you holding up?' Frode ran a hand over her sweaty hair.

'My ribs hurt something awful.'

She didn't seem to want to move when the lift stopped on her floor. Frode picked her up with care, kissed the top of her head, and carried her the rest of the way. It was an automatic response, after what happened with Espen.

'I could get used to this,' Elise said when Frode sat her down in a chair and removed her dusty boots and sweaty socks. 'Leaving out the pain.'

She immediately took the painkillers Frode set out, washing them down with some water.

'Are you hurt anywhere else?' Frode asked. 'I was scared you weren't going to get up after that horse rolled right over you.'

'My ego,' Elise said dramatically, trying to get a laugh out of him. 'I really thought we'd be able to at least jump the entire course, perhaps with a time fault or a slat off somewhere. You got anything for a bruised ego?'

'I'll see what I can do for you,' Frode said with a faint smile. 'I'll be here all night.'

Elise went quiet again when Frode helped her out of the white shirt she'd worn underneath her blue jacket. There was some bruising beginning to show over her left-side ribs.

'That looks awful. You sure you don’t need a doctor to look at it?'

'Not much to do about ribs. I've walked around with purple hoof-prints before.'

Frode turned the shower on for her and peeled off the white riding breeches so she wouldn't have to bend over. Elise ran a hand through his hair when Frode placed a kiss on her abdomen. He laid his cheek against Elise's sticky skin for a moment.

'I'm so glad to be with you again.'

Elise emerged from the steamy shower looking like something out of a dream, with warmth and damp radiating from her skin. Frode laid her out on the hotel bed to massage her sore limbs and back. Seeing the bruising and swelling spread across her side reminded him unpleasantly of the way Espen's skin bruised around his broken bones and surgery scars. He didn't think she'd be competing again any time soon.

Elise heaved a sigh under his hands. 'If anything, I'm feeling worse now than before I showered. I'll probably need to cut the tour short after I teach that clinic tomorrow.'

'At least Denmark was a success.’

'True. I guess I’ll see how I feel after I've had some sleep.'

 

*******

Seeing Elise take a tumble on live TV was not a great way to end the day for Terje, and therefore he didn't protest when Kat switched channels to the evening news.

Kat pet through his hair. 'Why did you have it cut so short?'

'Why do you think? So I won't need to bother for a while.'

'You're such a man. I like it longer.'

'You can wear your own hair as long as you want.'

'You're impossible.' Kat drew her hand away. 'Why do I even like you?'

Terje felt her eyes boring into the side of his face. ‘That’s what I’ve been wondering.'

The air between them crackled with tension. They both knew what was going to happen next. Kat shifted closer, and slowly tilted his face towards hers with a gentle hand. Frozen in indecision, Terje closed his eyes, and let it happen. Kat smelled quite nice up close. Her lips were sticky with some tasteless lip balm. It wasn't unpleasant to kiss her in any way, but Terje wanted nothing more than to get up and walk away.

'Kat… listen. I like you a lot, and it's like you say - we could be a good match. But I’m not feeling this.'

'So what you said about needing time...?'

'I just didn’t want to be a dick.’

Kat abruptly stood up from the couch. 'So what is it, then? Am I not good enough because I work for you?'

'Hey, don't be like that.'

'Are you too good to date a Polish woman? Are you afraid of what your father would say about immigrants or something?'

'Kat, stop that. Sit down. Let's not be weird about this.' 

Kat backed away, hurt breaking through her indignation. 'I can't be near you right now.'

Terje didn't realise she meant to leave the farm until she passed through the hall with a suitcase and pulled her coat on.

'Where are you going?'

'To my mother’s. You led me on and humiliated me, Terje. I don't want to talk to you anymore.'

Terje called apologies after her as she hurried to her car through the rain, but the red taillights disappeared in the dark.

Nora cocked her head at him and hopped onto his lap when he returned to the living room and sat on the couch with a sigh. Terje absently let her gnaw on his hands, thinking how much he wished to be honest for once. But as absurd as it sounded, he oversaw the consequences of avoiding the truth far better.

It hadn't begun with Nils. It had begun some fifteen years before they ever met. But Nils had woken something in Terje that refused to be put back to sleep.      

Terje first met him at a party Louise hosted. Nils was Elise's cousin, he knew, but they hadn't been introduced, and didn't seem to have enough in common for Terje to go over and have a chat. He instead engaged one of the owners of Louise's horses in conversation, hoping to gain another client for his business. It was the only reason he accepted invitations to Louise's high society gatherings.

'I have such admiration for you,' he heard Elise say to Nils as she balanced a glass of wine on the marble hearth. 'I can barely call myself an athlete in comparison.'  

'You might've made a decent dancer if you'd chosen a different career,' Nils said. 'You've got the build.'

Elise attempted a pirouette in the tight red cocktail dress she wore. Nils grabbed her by her waist and hand to guide her, so graceful in his movements, and poised in a way Terje had never seen before in another man. Nils spun Elise around until she shrieked with laughter and almost knocked her glass off the mantelpiece.

When Terje pocketed the business card of the horse owner and moved on, Nils approached him. Something about his coy smile made Terje self-conscious for the first time since his teenage years. Nils' generous mouth looked a little out of place in his lean, boyish face. Not quite feminine, but delicate.   

'Saw you looking,' Nils said.

'I thought Elise was going to keel over and break something for a moment there.'

‘Maybe ballet isn’t for her after all. You don’t seem the type that’s into ballet either.'

'Not really, no.'

'What about ballet dancers?' Nils trailed fingers up Terje's arm, holding his gaze.

Terje urgently shook his head, fighting the urge to brush him off like he did spiders in the hayloft. 'I have a wife. And kids.'

'Well,' said Nils, 'they’re in for a surprise down the line.’

The wise thing to do then would’ve been to leave, but there was something earth-shattering about the brief exchange. A stranger saw him for what he was while everyone around him was blind to it.

Nils caught his gaze across the room once or twice when Terje struck up a conversation with an acquaintance. His heartbeat sped up dangerously every time. He eventually went outside into the backyard to get some air. Nils followed him.  

Terje pointedly stared at the pitch black silhouettes of the mountains against the darkening sky. 'How did you know?'

‘You’re straight-passing, don’t get me wrong, but straight men usually don’t stare like that.' Nils trailed a hand across the lawn furniture, and crossed the dewy grass in the dark, motioning for Terje to follow. They circled the outside of the sphere of light cast by the house. 'You're a ticking time bomb. You can't suppress your very self without it finding a way to manifest.' 

'I don’t know about that. I'm not a deep thinker.'

Nils gazed up at him, though Terje couldn’t see his eyes in their shadowy sockets. 'No, you seem more like a physical creature. So how do you keep your body from screaming out for what you need?'

'I can't. And it's hell sometimes.'

Acknowledging its existence only ever amplified that ever-present feeling of starvation. He felt it in that moment, an ache radiating out from the core of his being, echoing in limbs that craved physical contact with another man more than anything.

Nils took a step closer and reached up to caress Terje's face. 'Why don't you let me do something about it?'

After a moment's hesitation Terje pressed his cheek into Nils' palm. He slowly turned his head, keeping Nils’ hand in place with his own, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his wrist.

He hated himself for it. He hated himself for kissing Nils against the lantern-lit facade of the manor until he felt like he would choke on all the need he'd repressed since marrying Mia.

People leaving the house and bidding goodbyes to the hostess forced him to draw Nils around the corner into the shadows of the stables, with his heart beating wildly in fear of discovery but his hands and mouth still seeking purchase on Nils' skin. When the front door closed and the cars disappeared down the road, Terje forced himself to break away.

He did go home, then, and bedded down on the sofa, unable to sleep beside his wife. The memory of Nils' touch seared him as he lay awake.

He was out of sorts for days afterwards, hiding his pent-up grief over what could have been and burying it deep under his never-ending work. This part of himself that had no place in the sort of life he was supposed to have.

It set the tone for the rest of his affair with Nils. A three year cycle of endless waiting, brief exhilaration, guilt, and heartache.

Terje wished he could have told Kat that he was gay. That no amount of forcing himself to sleep with women had ever changed that. Now that he was divorced, that never needed to happen again. He would take this secret to his grave, but he would never subject himself to forced intimacy ever again.


	10. Chapter 10

Terje rushed into the scullery to pick up his angrily ringing phone, sodden from the rain and with cow hair sticking to his wet hands.

'I thought you were coming over to take a look at Jigsaw first thing,' Elise snapped.

'What?' Terje walked over to the calendar in his office.

'I called yesterday. Your nephew said you'd come.'

'Sorry, it's been hectic around here with Kat gone. I could make time this afternoon?'

'I don't like being promised one thing and then having to reschedule.'

'Fine, I'll make it work. What's up with that pony, then?' 

Elise sighed over having to repeat herself. 'I suspect laminitis.'

Terje hadn't seen a case of laminitis in a long while. It could be serious.

Fetching a leash from the hall, he called Nora. She came bounding in from the living room on her too big feet, dragging along an utterly destroyed couch pillow. She left a trail of stuffing through the hallway.

'Come here, you hellhound. I get that you're upset that Kat is gone, but you just lost your unsupervised playtime privileges.'

Elise sat waiting in her kitchen in jeans and a dressy blouse. She folded her newspaper with a catty _finally_ when Terje and Nora came in, dripping rain.

'Can't ride at all?' Terje asked with a nod at her clothes.

'You have no idea how much pain I am in.'

Terje refrained from commenting on Elise's presumptuousness and tone with difficulty. He needed Elise on his good side.

At the back of the stables, her old piebald pony lay quietly in the straw, his ears hanging outward. It was a bad sign in Terje's experience. The inflammation caused a painful pressure in the hoof, making any weight on it unbearable.

'Has he been doing anything crazy, lately? Lots of roadwork? Any trauma to the hooves or anything else that might have caused sepsis?'

'No, he's just been out to pasture a bit. It's been wet, but he wasn't out twenty-four seven. Admittedly, I wasn't in any state to check his hooves this week...'

Terje tied Nora to the bars of the stable so he could get the pony up and examine the front hooves. The raised temperature in the soles could be many things, though there didn’t seem to be an infection site. The pony displayed a stiff gait and reluctance to lift his feet when Terje walked him up and down the aisle.

'If it's laminitis I'd say it's not mechanical but caused by endotoxins. Insulin resistance, frosted grass, carb overload,' he told Elise, who stood texting outside the stable door. 'Better get the vet in here. Whatever I can do won't help much without modifying his diet or getting him on anti-inflammatory meds.'

The pony lay back down as soon as Terje took off his halter in the stable. Elise suggested they have coffee while waiting for the vet, which suited Terje well enough on this unexpectedly busy morning.

On the short walk from the stables to the manor Nora dove after everything she found interesting, though Terje kept her on a short leash.

Elise let out a pained laugh at his struggle to keep the pup in check. 'Shouldn't you get her some puppy training?'

'Do I look like I have time to spend my Saturdays standing around with suburban mums and newlywed fairies trying to house break their French bulldogs?'

'I dunno, Terje, plenty of gay guys I know have better behaved dogs than you regardless of the breed. Nils' Pom, for instance.'

Terje covered up the shock of hearing Nils’ name aloud with a biting remark. 'That's not a dog, that's a rodent.'

They entered the kitchen, which was empty save for one napping Jack Russel that Nora woke with a paw to the face. 

'Speaking of fairies,' Terje said, feeling a little malicious over Elise's attitude today, 'did you ever hear that rumour that your boyfriend is gay as well as a junkie?' 

Elise's expression soured visibly. 'He dated a guy _once_. That doesn't make him gay.'

Terje accepted a cup of coffee from her with a satisfied smile. His mother had been right about Frode all along.

'Wait...' Elise suddenly said, dangerously keen. 'What do you mean, junkie?'

It was hard to tell whether she was cross about the insult or genuinely surprised at it.

'You know Frode’s got issues, right?'

'He told me that he's on antidepressants because of some trauma,' Elise clarified. ‘So what are you talking about?'

'I hate to break it to you, but it's common knowledge that he used to drink, and what have you. Take pills.'

Elise's face drained of blood, leaving her skin a chalky white. 'You're sure about this?'

'Half the town is still talking about the time cops had to drag him away to rehab kicking and screaming.'

Elise's expression turned fearful - violated - and Terje immediately regretted giving her such a scare out of spite. Once the fear passed, he could see the rejection written in her body language. The relationship between her and Frode met its end before his eyes. Before he could begin to feel guilty about his savage remark, he reminded himself that Frode, not he, did those things and kept Elise in the dark. He warned Frode to come clean. He washed his hands of any blame weeks ago.

'Who the fuck does he think I am, to play me like this?' Elise hissed. 

Terje shrugged. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. 'I get that you feel betrayed.'

'Damn right!' she said loudly.

As Terje waited for the vet to confirm his diagnosis of the piebald back in the stables, his first real conversation with Frode came back to haunt him. Frode voicing his fear of becoming socially isolated, in particular. It weighed on his conscience.

'What are you going to do?' Terje asked Elise while he wrote instructions for thrice daily cryotherapy on the whiteboard.   

‘I'm going to destroy him,’ Elise said.

Terje set to work on the pony's hooves feeling a little sick.

 

*******

In the half-light of the darkened living room, the couch cushion next to Terje dipped under Asbjørn’s weight.

Asbjørn leaned in. 'Can I have the tablet for a second?'

Terje tried to close all the Wikipedia articles he had open, but he kept missing the tiny x's in his haste. Inwardly cursing his oversized hands, he ended up locking the screen entirely. He held on tight when Asbjørn made a grab for the tablet.

'Now's not a good time.'

'Were you watching something interesting?' Asbjørn asked with a filthy laugh.

'Piss off! I told you it's not a good time!'

'Jeez, uncle Terje. What crawled up your ass?'

'Elise,' Terje muttered darkly.

'It's been a while since you two had a proper disagreement. What happened?'

Terje sighed. 'I did something stupid today.'

'Besides forgetting the appointment? You messed up one of her horses or something?'

'No, her relationship. I spilled some intel on her boyfriend that I thought was common knowledge. Turns out Elise was in the dark about it, and it was kind of a deal breaker for her.'

Asbjørn grimaced. 'Has he been sleeping around, or something?'

'No, he's a recovering addict, so you can imagine that didn't sit well with a girl like her.'

Asbjørn got up, giving up on the tablet. 'Who cares? Elise will find someone else to kiss her arse.'   

Terje ran a hand through his hair. The concern that had been plaguing him all day wasn't about Elise finding a new boyfriend at all.

With the room to himself again, Terje unlocked the screen to stare some more at the articles explaining depression and posttraumatic stress syndrome in words he could understand. It made sense that Frode would talk about that part and hide the drinking if it was linked. A different, lengthy and complicated article detailing the causes of substance abuse claimed it was more to do with a miserable environment than weakness of character or chemical hooks. The opposite of addiction wasn't sobriety, said the article, it was connection. If that were true, Frode was shit out of luck.

Terje wondered if it was too late to send the articles to Elise. It probably was. Elise wouldn't have wasted any time banishing Frode from her life. A gloomy sort of guilt drove him to pick up the phone to call the other person who had to suffer rejection at his hands of late. 

'Magdalena Stanik,' said an older woman's voice.

'Good evening, Mrs Stanik. Is Kat home?'

'Is that you, Terje Hansen? Have you changed your mind about my daughter yet?'

'I'm afraid not,' Terje said. 'I’m calling to check how Kat is doing.'

'Well, I'll have to see if she wants to talk to you today. A moment, please.' Rapid Polish sounded back and forth. Then Kat's mother said: 'Here she comes.'

'Hey,' Kat's voice said, quiet and vulnerable.

'Hi. How are you?'

'Not great.'

'You feel like coming back, yet? We have a hard time functioning without you.'

'I don't know, Terje. It wasn’t easy for me to put myself out there, and having to face that every day until my feelings for you go away... I don't want to put myself through that.'

'I understand.' Terje paced the length of the living room. 'I'm sorry about how things went. And I really miss having you around.'

'Don't say that.'

'Kat. You have to tell me, though. I'd hate to have to replace you.' 

'See, I knew you would only care about the work! Looks like Mia was right, huh?'

'Never said she wasn't. But she was my wife, and you are still my employee, so it's a different situation. And this isn't the first time I'm calling either, as you might remember. I care about you a lot, but I'm also trying to run a business here.'

'It's too soon. I'm not coming back before I go to Poland with my mother.'

'Okay,' Terje said, suppressing a groan at the reminder of the extended vacation she’d planned. 'Contact me when you come back. Feel better soon.'

He hung up, and entered the kitchen to get himself a beer. A tablecloth obscured the source of crunching sound emanating from under the table, but the bone Nora was supposed to be gnawing on lay abandoned in her dog bed. Terje got on his knees and dragged Nora away from the chair leg she almost chewed in half by the scruff of her neck. He locked her in her crate with an admonishment, but opened the wire door of the crate to let his pup out after mere moments. After all, he made a mess out of everything as well.

 

*******

Frode worried something serious had happened to Elise's sick pony when she suddenly stopped texting him, but decided to wait it out. He didn't want to get underfoot if she had no time to let him know what was going on. What she wrote to him the next morning, however, had nothing to do with the pony, nor the conversation she'd abandoned.

_We're done, Frode. Delete my number and don't come near me again. ~ Elise_

Frode read the message once, twice, three times without comprehending. Denial of what was written there took a chokehold on any sadness it should have evoked. Did he deserve a dismissal like this? He'd gone above and beyond to be the person she needed him to be. There hadn't been a single disagreement between them in the months they'd been seeing each other. If he went by her house, perhaps they could talk it out. All that time they spent together, all that they invested in each other - it couldn't be erased with a single text.

The horses out to pasture around the Aune stables lounged in the shadow of the line of trees, some swishing their tails rhythmically, others clad head to tail in fly sheets and masks. The low gate no longer responded to the signal of Frode's phone when he drove up. It felt final, but he needed to hear it from Elise’s own mouth. He needed to see her face as she said it.

Leaving his car to the side of the road, he scaled the gate and walked past the parking lot, where Terje's pickup sat next to Elise's Range Rover. Elise led her piebald pony up and down the lane along the outdoor school, where Terje circled relatively low fences at a gallop on Diva's back. An unseen force slowly crushed Frode's heart and lungs in his chest, realising that if she was serious, this would be the last time he saw her.  

He passed the outdoor school to meet Elise halfway between the sand corrals.

'Morning, Frode,' Terje called, steering close to the fence. He casually chased the horse over an obstacle. Passing Frode on his next lap, he said: 'You're not here to make a scene, are you?'

His speed left Frode no room to reply.

Elise let her pony into a corral and walked up with a wary set to her posture. 'Wasn't my message clear?' she demanded, halting a few paces away from him. 'Go away before I call the cops and get a restraining order against you.'

Frode didn't quite know what to say, faced with this angry, scared version of the woman who'd been perfectly comfortable sleeping in his arms less than two days ago.

'I understand what it said, just not why.'

'No, you know why,' Elise snapped, pointing a finger at him. 'You blindsided me about your alcoholism and drug abuse, and I'm not putting up with any of that crap. What the hell were you thinking? That I'd never find out? That I wouldn't mind dating a degenerate?'

'Elise, listen to me...'

'No, _you_ listen to _me_. Do you think I got this far by inviting problems into my life left and right?'

'How have I been a problem?' Frode asked. 'Have I ever given you cause for concern? Made you feel unsafe or unloved?'

Elise's jaw clenched. 'Knowing you're an addict makes me feel unsafe. It taints everything that's happened between us.'

'I'm not an addict,' Frode protested in a quiet voice. ‘I got treated for my underlying issues, and I don't ever have to go down that path again.'

'You're in denial. You're always going to be an addict. People don't get cured from that sort of stuff, and I'm not going to wait around until you drag me down with you.'

'Elise,' he pleaded. 'Just consider what I've actually been like to you before you condemn me based on rumours.'

'You don't get to tell me how to feel, Frode!' Anger shook Elise's voice. 'Leave. It's over.'

Straw rustled on the concrete in a gust of hot summer wind, punctuating the silence left by lack of hoof beats on the packed sand. Terje sat watching him atop his horse at the entrance to the outdoor school, ready to intervene.  

'I'm sorry it had to end this way,' Frode said to Elise. 'I'll miss you.'

'I don't need to hear it. Go.'

Horse shoes rang out on the concrete behind him when he walked away, following him in the direction  of the gate.

'I'll see myself out, Terje,' Frode muttered when Diva snorted in his neck.

Terje's mount drew level with him. With the sun beating down on them, they were both sweating. Diva's rump flecked with foamy spit and sweat. Despite the warmth, Terje looked more put together than Frode had ever seen him, in light riding wear that fit him better than the barn clothes he wore day in day out. Even his brown leather boots were clean. If Frode didn't know any better he'd say Terje was out to impress someone. He was likely chomping at the bit to take Frode's place at Elise's side. He'd always been unnecessarily meddlesome about their relationship.

'I know you will,' Terje said. 'I'm just making sure she feels safe. She counts on me to have her back.'

Frode glanced up at him, glad for the shades that made his face unreadable. 'Okay. Well, have a good life, you two.'  

Terje ignored his goodbye, opening the gate with his phone. When Frode turned his car around and drove off, Terje still sat his horse like a sentry, watching the gate close behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

Watching his niece squat near Strider's head to pat him with a chubby hand, Frode wondered if a child of his would look like her. He would never have children, never experience the joy, or the care, or the burden. But he still had his family, and as long as he was on his best behaviour he could watch his brothers be fathers. It would have to do.

Marte's shining blue eyes occasionally focused on him, seeking a smile or words of approval. Frode didn't have it in him to smile today, but he told her Strider appreciated her gentle pats.

Strider's ears pricked up a moment before the doorbell rang. Apart from Espen and Stein joyfully hailing each other in the echoing hall, another bright voice mingled with theirs. Espen brought Daniel.

Pulling the shattered pieces of himself together into a semblance of a human being, Frode got up to greet his former lover with a gesture of affection he reserved for male relatives. Daniel hadn't changed in any way since they last met, still an unsurpassed beauty, as perfectly preserved in time as in Frode's pictures of him.

Espen squeezed between them to embrace Frode, then moved on to their mother.

'Don't I get a hug, mate?' Daniel asked when Frode only spoke a greeting. 'How’s your summer been? Espen and I just got back from Borre.'

'We had such a great time!' Espen called from the kitchen. 'We'll show you pictures in a minute.'

Frode nodded. 'I'm quickly going to walk Strider before dinner, but line them up.'

He intended to pull the front door shut behind him, but Daniel followed him out of the house and robbed him of the minute he needed to breathe. Strider disappeared into the shrubs, leaving them alone.

'Espen told me you got published again,' Frode said to head off any inquiries Daniel might make about him.

'Yeah. _Journal of Cryptology_. My professor tried to take most of the credit, though. Very annoying.'

'I remember when that first happened to Jens. He was furious for weeks.'

Tempting Daniel into a rant about academics bought Frode enough time to not have to speak until they got back to his mother's house, but as soon as everyone was seated at the dinner table, he had something to account for.

'I thought you were going to bring Elise,' Espen said, ladling food onto Daniel's plate. 'Did something come up?'

Frode watched Marte inspect a green bean in her closed fist with a grim little face, avoiding the curious stares around him. 'In a manner of speaking. I guess you won't be meeting her after all.'

Jens levelled a malicious grin at him. 'Because you made her up?'

Frode's gaze slid from Jens to Espen before lowering to his plate. 'Because she ended things a couple of days ago.'

'What happened?' Espen demanded.

Flustered, Frode took a sip of water. He suddenly noticed no one was drinking wine with dinner out of some sort of misguided solidarity with him.

'She found out I'm an a junkie, and reacted accordingly.'

'Please don't talk about yourself that way,' Marit said quietly. 

'I think it's a nice and comprehensive term. Everyone else uses it.'

'And I'm asking you not to. It completely disregards how hard you've worked to recover.'

Frode considered arguing that his recovery was only skin deep, and that he hadn't worked for it at all but suffered becoming clean and less suicidal at the hands of everyone who counted on him to keep living to spare them the pain of burying him.

'Okay. Yeah, she broke it off over text and had her farrier escort me off the property when I tried to talk to her.'

'That's harsh. You miss her?' Espen asked delicately.

Frode took a deep breath. 'Yeah. Having to quit her like that is going to take some adjusting. I don't really know what to do with myself at the moment.'

The silence at the table was unbearable. Marte threw her haricot vert on the ground with a loud _no_ , creating a well-timed distraction. Frode mechanically began to eat.

'Did you know that farrier used to be our neighbour when we lived on the farm, mum?' he said around a bite of steak. 'Terje Hansen.'

Marit cocked her head in interest, visibly relieved at the change of topic. 'The youngest, right? He was always poking around our barn when we had lambs or kittens. Such a gentle boy.'

'He has more animals than he knows how to take care of now. I've been to his farm a couple of times when Elise was on tour.'

'Did you get a look at our old place...?'

Slowly, the others around them began striking up their own conversations, forgetting about the initial awkwardness of being confronted with Frode's sadness.  

After dinner, Frode sat on the floor with Marte, rolling a ball back and forth while the others cleared the table. The repetitive motion hypnotised him, in a way. When Marte got up, bored of the game, Frode tossed the ball to Strider, but his dog only followed it with his eyes, and remained on the mat by the garden door. Daniel picked it up.

'Didn't think you'd ever go back to being a breeder,' he said with a little smirk.

Frode could only stare at him for a moment.

'You know procreation is never going to be endgame for me,' he snapped. 'What do you want to hear? That you were exceptional and nothing will ever compare?'

'Hey,' Daniel said quickly, 'I didn't mean it like that, mate.'

'Forgive me. The timing of this whole thing is unfortunate.' Frode took a deep breath. 'I quit my medication the other week, and I'm having trouble regulating my responses.'

Daniel sat down next to him, and ran a hand through Frode's hair. Frode couldn't stand it. He got up, and left Daniel in the middle of the floor.

'Thanks for dinner, mum,' he called.

'Should you be going home alone?' Marit followed him into the hall and took his face between her hands.

'I’m not feeling very sociable today, I’m sorry.'

She hugged him a long moment before releasing him. 'Take it easy. I'm glad we got to see each other tonight.'

He kissed her goodbye. 'Me too. Love you.'

Driving home sick with bottled up grief, he knew there was only one thing that had the power to level him out. He made detour via a liquor store.  

 

*******

Without Kat's help, Terje watched the farm slowly descend into chaos. Crammed work days left him no room to breathe. He was behind on every household chore, and had no time left to raise his puppy right. Something had to give, he knew when he cleaned up the remains of the breakfast crockery that Nora had pulled from the table along with the tablecloth.

When Asbjørn noticed him sitting over his planner with his hands in his hair, he took it from Terje and helped make a plan to lighten the work load. He'd kept the number of the Polish lad that had come asking for work earlier that summer, and he promised to talk to his sister to see if she or one of their cousins would be willing to take over some of Kat's tasks for a while.

That just left finding a solution for the dog.

It took Terje a few days to pluck up the courage to visit Frode at his house. Frode already walked a fine line between tolerating and disliking him before Terje got him dumped, but he had offered, hadn't he?  

A single bark from inside the house – which actually looked more like a cabin – answered the rapping of Terje's knuckles on Frode's door. Terje heard footsteps in the house, but it took a minute for Frode to appear. With no regard for the hour of day, he wore flannel pyjama pants and a creased grey t-shirt. His hollow face and unwashed hair gave him a vaguely sick appearance. Terje wondered if he'd fallen off the wagon after Elise booted him out.  

'How are you holding up?’

Frode levelled a closed-off stare into the woods over Terje's shoulder. 'I'm fine.'

'You messed up about Elise?' Terje cocked his head at him to try and spot some glimmer of a reaction. 'You look messed up.'

Frode absently scratched his left arm. His nails left red stripes across his freckles. 'It's been a weird week.'

The pine trees rushed with the wind that picked up. Dark clouds overhead began releasing their rain.

'Can I come in?' Terje asked.

Frode held the door and moved back to let Terje into the cabin. It was dim, with no light burning anywhere and the overcast sky darkening. Frode disappeared from sight while Terje toed off his boots. Nora saw her chance as soon as Terje put the leash down to take off his coat. She slipped into the first room that had a door ajar.

'Nora,' Terje called. 'Don't. Come here, puppy.'

Nora streaked past him trailing the leash and carrying what looked like a pair of underwear, which she brought to Frode in the kitchen.

'Thank you,' Frode said to the pup. 'Yes, that _is_ mine. How clever. Have you thought of becoming a professional sniffer dog when you grow up?'

Terje felt his face redden in embarrassment as he picked up the leash and unclipped it.

Frode pocketed his folded underwear to rummage in a cupboard. Strider sat on his haunches, but Nora reared up to see what Frode had in his hands, and pawed at him.

'Sit,' Frode told her. He waited. He waited quite a while for Nora to oblige him. When Nora eventually sat next to Strider, Frode gave them both a treat.

Terje shot him an apologetic grin. 'She's a good girl, really. I just can't seem to find the time for her.'   

Frode scratched the pup behind the ears and said nothing of it.

'I'm kind of at the end of my rope, and after what you said about my previous dog... I thought maybe you could foster Nora for me.'

Frode didn't initially answer. He considered the pup, then Terje. 'What exactly would you expect of me?' 

'Just teach her basic obedience and commands... Keep her out of trouble.'

'And you don't mind leaving this particular dog with a junkie?'

Terje floundered for a moment. 'Ah… Your dog is in great shape. That’s all I care about.'

Frode stared right through him for a beat before he said: 'The biggest part of training a dog is training the owner.'

'I could come over to work with her every now and then. Anything's better than neglecting her at the farm.'

Frode picked Nora up, holding her in his arms as Terje went back to his van to get the crate he stuffed with Nora's belongings in case Frode said yes. Frode installed the crate between the sofa and his wall of bookcases. Terje made a sound of recognition when his gaze locked onto a carved figurine of a fox on one of the bookshelves.

Frode tried to pinpoint where Terje was looking. 'What?'

'It was the first thing I remembered about you when we met again. That your dad used to call you Little Fox.'

'Really?' Frode opened the crate door and straightened up. His eyes lost their vacant quality as he searched Terje's face.

‘He promised me I could be his farm hand when I became twelve. If he’d lived, chances were we would’ve grown up together.’

Frode held his gaze for a moment, then lowered his eyes. He moved back to the kitchen to feed Strider some raw meat for dinner. Terje took a seat on the sofa, and watched Nora sniff every corner of the living room before lying down at his feet.

'Bring Nora's food over, will you?' Frode eventually called from the hall.

Terje pulled the heavy bag of puppy chow from the crate and shoved it into the kitchen cupboard Frode indicated, next to the fridge. On the fridge door, he noticed a picture of Elise atop her pony among a collage of photos. Another photo stood out, in which a twenty-something guy with piercings and a ponytail kissed a ginger, one-eyed cat.

'You keep track of your conquests on here?' Terje joked. 

Frode glanced over. 'I should update that.'

He took the photos of Elise and the cat boy off the door, then didn't seem to know what to do with them. Terje helpfully stepped on the pedal of the bin, holding it open until Frode tossed them in. He thought he saw the glint of an empty liquor bottle among the other garbage before the pictures covered it.

Nora crunched away at her kibble in the silence.

Frode met Terje's eyes, then glanced at the clock. 'I'm going to get started on some food.'

'What's for dinner?'

'Broccoli quiche. Do you want some?'

'Please. I haven't had a hot meal since Kat left.'

As Frode turned his back to wash his hands and start kneading dough in a bowl, Terje got comfortable on the bench behind the table, and pillowed his head on his arms for a while.

 

*******

Halfway through Sunday afternoon, Nora startled Frode from his work by suddenly scrabbling down the hall to the front door, barking. Sure enough, knocking followed. Frode let Nora bark for a brief moment, then shushed her, and rewarded her for her vigilance. Strider padded up to see what all the fuss was about when Frode opened the door.

Terje stood on the porch. He took a last drag from his cigarette, then extinguished it in the rainwater that still clung to the windowsill of the kitchen window. He tossed the butt into the shrubs among the trees with a casual arc.

'Hey, little rascal.' Terje squatted to greet his overjoyed pup, petting her as she tried to jump into his arms.

Frode let him in under the assumption that he was there to make good on his promise to stay involved with his pup. Terje crossed the living room, walking up to the door that led to the messy, overgrown garden merging into the forest behind the cabin to inspect the view.  

‘Not a fan of yard work, I see.’

'I was in the middle of planting a vegetable garden, but I got distracted.'

'By what?'

'I had a better view when I lived in Stavanger,' Frode deflected. 'The fjords.'

'Must be beautiful. I've never actually seen them.'

Frode stared at him in surprise for a beat. 'Yeah, it is. You never-?'

'I never made it further than the city.'

'Oslo has fjords.'

'I meant Hamar.'

Frode laughed softly. Terje stared ahead, out of the window, but Frode saw the shadow of a smile on his face.

'Nora's settling in nicely. Drives Strider absolutely bonkers when he's chilling out and she wants to play, but they get along even in close quarters.' 

'Good to hear.' Terje gave Frode his full attention at the mention of his pup. 'What have you guys been up to this weekend?'

'We went on a hike yesterday. I ended up having to carry her back because she expended all her energy during the first ten minutes.' 

Terje laughed.

'How are things at the farm?'

'Better. It's good not having to worry about Nora, and I managed to bribe my nieces into doing some chores around the house when I was at my folks' earlier.' Terje suddenly grinned his rakish grin. 'Look what I found there.'

He produced an old photo, taken from a family album. A tire swing hung from the branch of a big oak tree on a backdrop of grasslands. Next to the rope, a boy with sandy curls hung upside-down from the branch by his legs, his ugly, faded, neon pink and yellow shirt baring a scrawny chest. In the tire sat a ginger kindergartener with a lopsided smile, milky white legs dangling.  

'It's us,' Terje prompted.

Frode took it from him, speechless at uncovering a piece of his childhood that felt like another life most of the time.

'There was a photo where you and Silje are playing house with our smelly basset hound for a baby as well. Thought I'd spare you that one.'

'Who took this?'

'My ma. She remembered you pretty well when I told her we met again.' Terje refused the photo when Frode tried to give it back. 'Put it on your fridge or something.'

Frode did, adding it to the collage that now only contained photos of his family.

Terje cast about restlessly. 'Want to take a walk while it's dry out? Come on.'

The birch trees on the other side of the road shone gold in a rare sunny moment when Frode shut the door behind them. Terje let Nora pull on the leash while he talked, allowing her to sniff wherever she pleased. Frode corrected him until Nora at least paid attention to Terje and stayed at his side, little tan feet toddling along at twice the speed of Strider's pace. Frode had no doubt things would work out fine for them once the pup learned all the commands and proper obedience.

'Remember your dad had a Border Collie back in the day?' Terje asked. 'Whenever he called her, she'd come running and inevitably knock Jens over in her enthusiasm. Think he must've had a shattered tailbone from falling on his arse so much.'

'Never heard him complain. Maybe he was still wearing nappies at the time. How old were you, that all that stuff stuck with you?'

'I'm thirty-five now. You do the math. You're supposed to be better at that, judging from your book collection.'

'You're three years older than me, then. So seven. Fair enough.'

They walked on in somewhat of an awkward silence. Frode tried to come up with something to talk about that wasn't related to the one thing that made their paths cross again. Pretending that getting over Elise took no more effort than removing all visible evidence of her brief presence in his life was easiest in front of someone like Terje.

'I guess I remember so much because you were quite a character. You know, with the hair, and the...' Terje gestured at the lower half of his face. 'We could hear your temper tantrums across the road when your mum tried to take you to speech therapy.'

'Speech therapy?' Frode asked incredulously.  

'Yeah,' Terje said. 'No offence, but you sounded retarded, man. It was that lip.'

Terje shot a glance at his face, lighting a new cigarette when they waited among the trees for Strider to catch up. Frode suppressed the impulse to cover his mouth with his hands, remembering why he grew a beard in the first place.  

'It looked pretty gruesome before they sewed it up, I’ll tell you that,' Terje went on. 'You were the ugliest kid I ever saw.'

‘Wow, thanks.’

Frode took a fork in the road leading further up the mountain. Now that he was out of the house, he wanted to keep walking forever. 

'What were you doing earlier?' Terje asked, following him.

'Nothing much,' Frode deflected. He'd promised himself he'd go looking for work now that he was off his medication, and with nothing else to do, he'd gotten started on the process of updating his resume. Terje didn't need to know that. Being ridiculed was more likely than not going to kill Frode's tenuous motivation.

'That's not an answer.'

'I figured it was nicer than saying it's none of your fucking business.'

'Okay, no need to be rude.'

Terje looked puzzled when Frode laughed in his face, hard and mirthless.  


	12. Chapter 12

Terje's children were understandably disappointed when they came over on Friday night and their puppy was gone. Emma and Jakob went above and beyond in whinging about it, until Terje told them to cut it out or they'd be going to bed early. The next morning, however, Emma found something else to complain about when she learned why Kat was gone. 

'She had a crush on your dad,' Asbjørn was saying just as Terje entered the kitchen, 'but he turned her down, so she ran away.' 

Emma drew in a sharp breath. Her fathomless brown eyes searched Terje's. 'You're horrid.'

'I suppose I am,' Terje said. 'But I still love your mum.'

'Mum is not coming back to you. She's getting married to Harald.'

'Is there some sort of law that says I have to be with someone no matter what?' Terje snapped, fed up with her attitude.

Emma's expression crumpled instantly. A fat tear rolled down one of her cheeks as her bottom lip began to quiver. 'I want you to be happy, too!'

Terje sighed and crouched down to pull her into a hug. ' _You_ make me happy, sweetheart.'

'But I'm never here!'

'You're here now. I'll take what I can get.'

'I'm so sorry we went on vacation without you.'

'No, stop that right there. Don't ever feel bad about doing fun things with mum.'

A sickly guilt compressed Terje's chest. He left the breakfast table to smoke outside when Emma calmed down, trying his damndest to push away the regretful thoughts that crowded him.

If only he had gone the distance to keep Mia happy. He should’ve been steadfast, and forgotten about Nils after their first encounter. The six months they didn't see each other should have been time enough to get over the idea of a man he kissed once.

'I didn't even dare ask Louise for your name last time,' Nils had murmured when they met again on Elise's birthday. 'I assumed you wouldn't like being outed by association.'

Terje glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one listened in.

'You thought right,' he said under his breath. 'It's Terje.'

'Looks like we're getting a second chance, Terje.' 

Upon marrying Mia, Terje had been smug about setting himself up for lifelong loyalty to his wife. Mia would never have to worry about him looking at other women. Now he cursed his stupidity. Cheating on his wife with a man was somehow worse – not just because the whole concept of adultery was disgusting, but because it invalidated the very foundations of his relationship with her. And yet, he climbed the carpeted stairs of the Aune manor to the first floor five minutes after Nils did, the directions to the guest room burning in his mind.  

He explored Nils' body at an excruciatingly slow pace, through his clothes at first, afraid of what he would find underneath and what it would do to him. Nils egged him on in a whisper, guiding him through ten years of buried knowledge. Pressing his face against Nils' neck, his fingers dug into well-defined back muscles as he fucked Nils with everything he had. The heavy weight in his lap felt so right. His life thus far amounted to nothing, compared. To think he wasted his youth denying himself this.

Mia asked him what was wrong after a week, worried about his insufferable mood swings. Keeping the unrest inside, the desperation, and the scorching love for the man who looked at him once and knew him instantly, required Terje to become numb to feeling or he'd go insane. And so he went numb inside and out, until the next time Nils came breezing back into his life and startled him out of that waking coma again, months later.   

After three years Nils had left the country, joining a ballet company overseas. It had been more than a year before the first mention of a divorce between Terje and Mia, but he had without a doubt been the catalyst. Or perhaps his leaving had been. Terje's prolonged grief consumed every motivation to keep up the constant work to maintain his marriage.

Missing that connection still felt like a severed limb. Thinking back on it even now, Terje wanted to destroy something, to rage and scream, to start walking through the fields and never return, but the presence of his children wrapped his emotions in iron chains and bound them inside where the light of day would never touch them. He controlled his breathing by lighting another cigarette as Emma and Jakob joined him to feed the barn cats that gathered at the scullery door. 

Jakob cautiously put forward an idea when all the cats were eating. 'Can we go see Nora at that man's house?'

Terje reacted before the children could get excited. 'No. I don't think he'll like it if we go over to his house.'

'But you said you go over there to visit her,' Emma said.

'You won't like it there. He's... not a nice person.'

Terje hated himself for saying that about someone who was currently doing him a huge favour, but it was true that Frode wasn't likeable. He was often moody and unpleasant when they spoke.

'You could call and ask if he minds,' Jakob insisted. 'We don't care if he's not nice to us. We want to see Nora.'

'Fine, I'll call,' Terje said. 'Wait here.'

He went to his office to pretend to make a call, then came back, giving them an apologetic shrug. 'He's not at home,' 'What else would you guys like to do today?'

 

*******

A surprise waited for Frode on his porch when he returned from a mid-morning walk with Strider and Nora. Espen sat reading a book in the chair, out of the sudden downpours but huddled in a sensible jacket against the breeze, an overnight bag at his feet.

Frode skipped half the steps up to the deck, and hauled Espen upright to embrace him a long moment.   

'What's the occasion?' he asked when Espen stepped back and adjusted his crooked glasses.

'Can't I visit my own brother just because I want to?'

Espen bent to scratch the dogs behind the ears, keeping a carefully neutral expression where he'd normally have flashed a grin or guilty smile. He'd changed. Something about his life in Oslo was changing him.   

Frode gave the short stub of his once waist-length tail a tug, passing him in the hallway. Seeing Espen mature so fast over the course of a year unsettled him as much as it reassured him. At twenty-one, there was enough room for Espen to retain some of his innocence and spirit along with a higher level of responsibility, but the latter seemed to be crowding out the former fast. Frode wondered if it had anything to do with Daniel.

Dumping his bag in the guest bedroom, Espen moved on to listlessly take a seat on Frode's couch. 'Long journey,' he said when he noticed Frode looking at him from the doorway.

'I'm sure it was.'  

Frode made him coffee and opened the roll of chocolate cookies he kept in case spontaneous visitors like Espen showed up. Espen smiled faintly at the gesture.

'You look almost normal today,' Frode remarked.

The blue jeans and off-white sweater Espen wore gave him a much softer appearance than his favoured black ensembles. Growing his curly hair out in its natural colour helped as well.

'I like to blend in at university.'

'Smart choice. But sit behind a piano and I won't be able to tell you and your old man apart anymore. Did you really have to get the same sort of glasses?' 

'These were the nicest I could afford, but I’m getting my eyes lasered as soon as I can.'

Espen crammed a cookie in his mouth, so Frode kept the conversation going.

'I found that book I was looking for.'

'Where was it?'

'In Elise's fireplace, as it turned out. She was so upset I dared to show up at her house and ask if she'd seen it that she made me watch her throw it into the flames.'

Espen frowned up at him. 'I can't believe how much of a big deal she's making out of this break-up. Are you sure you didn't do anything to hurt her?'

Frode threw up his hands. 'I don't know. Terje says she's mostly angry at herself for catching feelings for a guy like me. And scared that she let me get so close.'

'You'd better respect her boundaries from now on. I guess being a big, unpredictable guy with a shady past is a triple-threat to girls.'

'I'm aware of that,' Frode snapped. 'It was stupid beyond belief to think I was fit to date anyone. Remind me of what happened here if I ever meet someone again. If that doesn't work, remind me of what happened with Daniel. I don't want to hurt or scare any more people I love.' 

Espen tried to protest, but Frode walked back down the hallway because he heard the low rumble of an engine approach, and yanked the front door open. He nearly closed it again at the sight of Terje's old pickup.

Terje lit a cigarette, getting out of his car. 'I noticed you were almost out of firewood too when I was here the other day,' he called to Frode. 'I got you some while I was at it. ' He began to unload big, round logs out of the back of his pickup.

'I can get my own,' Frode said uncertainly.

'I'm here now. Have you got an axe?'

'Er, yeah. Let me go get it.'

Espen followed Frode outside when he'd dug up the axe.

'Who's this?' Terje asked, studying Espen. 'On the rebound?'

'This is my brother Espen.'

'The Satanist.' Terje nodded to himself. When Frode arched an eyebrow at him, he said: 'You're not the only Stedjeberg they talk about around town.' 

He took the axe as if Frode were a child about to hurt himself, and stacked a few of the logs to chop the topmost into manageable blocks.

Espen watched Terje make woodchips fly with interest. 'Can I try?' he asked, holding out his hands for the axe.

Frode held him back with an outstretched arm. 'Do I need to remind you that your spine needs steel reinforcements to keep you upright?'

'Let the big boys handle it, Espen,' Terje said.

Espen was about to slink away unhappily, but changed his mind when Terje shot him his rakish grin and tossed his flannel shirt over the railing of the porch. Squinting against the sun, Espen leaned back against the wall of the cabin with a faint smile. He eventually nudged Frode to alert him to the way Terje's T-shirt stretched across his muscular back and shoulders every time he swung the axe. Frode didn't react, unwilling to expose his vague jealousy. He would give a lot to be considered as competent, well-respected and good-looking as Terje. Terje could be a jerk all he wanted, but as long as he did it smiling people would still be drawn to him. Even Frode grudgingly liked seeing him around, though Terje ran his mouth more often than not.

After being a certified asshole most of his life, Frode tended to think of putting up with Terje's verbal abuse as the universe's way of making him pay. He still had about twenty-one years’ worth of incurred debt.  

 

*******

Hanging on the sofa on a rainy, rapidly darkening evening after dinner, Terje wondered whether he’d be allowed to visit Nora tonight. Frode had been out of sorts since his quarrel with Elise, and turned Terje away more than once. He said Terje came over too much, and that the surprise visits stressed him out.

Terje sent him a text to ask. Finally, Frode gave him a curt affirmative answer. He let Terje in half an hour later, wearing his pyjamas and looking muted, level, colourless.

'Given up on today already?' Terje asked, lowering himself onto the sofa next to Frode.

Frode pulled a blanket around himself and let his head fall against the back rest. 'I'm tired.'

'From doing what?'

'Work at the shelter,' Frode said without looking. He watched a cycling race that took place in a sunnier country. 'I'm thinking of quitting.'

Something told Terje not to give Frode shit for his weakness now. Instead, he said: 'I'm tired, too. I haven't been sleeping well.'

Dreams about the attack on the farm disturbed his rest more frequently than he cared to admit, and worry about Kat's return to the farm kept him up. Last night he'd dreamt about Nils, and once awake he couldn't go back to sleep again. He'd spent half the night on his tablet trying to find a trace of him online. Seeing his face in the photos of the Instagram account that came up was estranging, after relying on memory to recall it for such a long time. Perhaps it was the hour of night, or his confused state of mind, but it had been unsatisfying, just like the porn he watched afterwards to ease falling back asleep.

'If you get sleeping pills, can you hook me up?' Frode didn't take his eyes off the screen, which made it impossible to tell if he was joking. He was good at pretending to follow the cycling race.

'Why would you say that?' Terje demanded, grabbing Frode's chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. 'You're not on something right now, are you?'

Frode shrugged it off without replying. 

‘I guess I’ll take Nora for a walk.'

'Have fun,' Frode said, acknowledging him with the barest glance.

It was too bad Frode didn't come along, Terje thought while walking Nora along the dark trail leading up the mountain from the cabin, but it was good to spend some time with his pup. She'd gotten used to walking without pulling on the leash, and occasionally glanced up at Terje to read his body language. She responded well to the commands he gave her at random moments to see if she paid attention and obeyed. Passing his car when he returned to the cabin, he remembered the bag of puppy chow he brought to replenish the initial one he gave Frode.

Frode was watching what seemed to be the first speed skating competition of the season when Nora curled up between Strider's legs on the big dog bed. On impulse, Terje took Frode's half-empty coffee mug and replaced it with a fresh cup of tea, which earned him an unguarded, lopsided smile. He warmed his hands, cold from the walk, on his own mug as he sat down to watch the five kilometre race between the reigning champion and a challenger.

The winners of the men and women's all-round rankings got lauded with medals and a couple of laps across the ice in a sled pulled by a magnificent Friesian, which reminded Terje of something. His mother had never been happy whenever Terje and Lars took turns racing a horse across snowy fields while dragging the other along on skis, but they always laughed off the punishments that were totally worth it.

He nudged Frode. 'We should go skikjøring some time when it's snowed.'

'That sounds like a fun way to die,' Frode agreed.

They sat talking about the sports they played as children a while, and about the more spectacular injuries they suffered. Frode dropped the conversation when commentators began analysing the skaters' performances. Of course he was the kind of guy that enjoyed picking things apart. Terje tried listening, but the lingo bored him. His gaze wandered from the wall of colourful books to the pictures and the wooden interior of the cabin. It didn't seem that cramped anymore now that he came here more often; rather, it seemed like a manageable space to live if you were alone. Perhaps when he was an old man he'd trade the farm for a place like this. With the fireplace on, it was very cosy. The couch was extremely comfortable, too, he noticed, leaning back into the big pillows.

Suddenly, a hand shook him. Terje drew a deep breath, and raised his head from where his chin had been resting on his chest. The screen of the TV was black, and the warm spot where Frode had been sitting was empty.  

Frode stood in front of him, wearing his blanket around his shoulders and chewing on a toothbrush. 'Not to come across as inhospitable, but it probably wasn't your intention to sleep on my couch the rest of the night.' 

'No... Thanks for waking me.' Terje rubbed his eyes with his palms, and looked at the time. He should have been in bed already. 

Frode held out his arm. It took Terje a beat to figure out why with his sleep-addled brain, but then he clasped it and let Frode pull him to his feet.

'You good to drive?'

Terje let out a quiet laugh. 'Yeah. Goodnight, Frode. Get some rest yourself.'


	13. Chapter 13

 

The scullery smelled of detergent when Terje returned home from shoeing with a growling stomach, and there was a load of laundry spinning in the machine. Silje's daughter Sophie had been working hard this morning, it seemed. In the gleaming kitchen, Asbjørn set out extra plates so they could all eat together.

Terje pat Sophie on the back in passing, and took a seat next to her. 'Thanks, sweetheart. You're a real help.' 

Sophie grinned at him. 'No problem. It wasn't half as disgusting as I imagined it would be.'  

'Kat trained us well, and besides, we're never in the house these days.'

Terje took out his phone and transferred the money he promised his niece for the work. Across the table, Silje buttered and stacked slices of bread.

'Did you hear about Jan Halvorsen, Terje?' she asked.

Terje shook his head. 'No, did he croak or something?'

'His farm got a visit from your friend in the hoodie, it seems. It was in the papers this morning.'

Even the casual way Silje said it made Terje's heart pound in powerless rage. 'I can't stand the idea that that guy is still out there. If I ever get my hands on him I'm going to shove a knife up his arsehole and see how he likes what he did to my goddamn cow.'

'Terje, please.' Silje placed a stack of cheese sandwiches on his plate. 'Did the police ever figure out who that hoodie belonged to?'

'I never heard back from them,' Terje said, tucking into his lunch. 'How much do you want to bet it ended up in some dusty archive, completely forgotten?'

'Perhaps you should go over and ask.'

Terje was about to protest, but found he didn't mind an excuse to go into town rather than chore at the farm the rest of the afternoon. His back hurt more than it should.

Asbjørn and Sophie chatted away in the silence that fell when Terje downed a glass of milk in one go. Silje shot them a look, then leaned across the table.

'Mia's wedding is next Friday, right?'

'Yeah. That's another weekend I won't be spending with the kids.'

Silje pushed her layered curls out of her face, and clipped them at the back of her head. 'Might want to spend some time looking for someone new yourself instead. Go out. It's not too late to find a nice girl and start a new family. Or, you know... whatever you want.' She held his gaze too long for comfort, as if she knew something.

'What, replace Emma and Jakob? Do the whole thing with the sleepless nights and the nappies over? No thanks.' Terje got up from the table to smoke outside before he so much as finished his sandwich.  

Whatever Silje said about doing whatever he wanted, it wasn’t that simple, Terje thought, leaning against the wall next to the scullery door. If there was anything he really wanted for himself, it would be to meet a nice, uncomplicated guy. Someone easy-going who loved animals and country life and would move in with him so they could be disgustingly happy together for the rest of their days. But that kind of guy didn't exist, from what he had seen of men he was interested in. There was always something that didn't work. They had too much ambition to stick around town, or weren't into monogamy, or turned out to be straight. Or mentally ill, his mind provided as an afterthought. He forcibly pushed that one away. Even if he happened upon someone who seamlessly fit into his life, there was the small matter of his family. Admitting he was gay would amount to social suicide. They'd throw him out with the rest of the garbage, and he'd never be free of their judgement again. Not to mention Mia and the kids would feel like they'd been living a lie.

Silje came to stand next to him. She didn't take the cigarette he offered. 'Hey. I didn't mean anything by it.'

Terje released his breath on a heavy exhale. 'I wish people would stop telling me I need to find someone.'

'We want to see you happy again.'

'That I'm not in a constant state of bliss doesn't mean I'm not happy. I love my work and I love my kids. There could be a better balance, but it's not so bad.'

'I suppose,' Silje mused. 'Marriage isn't the be all and end all. I sometimes get the idea that the whole arrangement favours men a lot more on the whole.'

Terje threw his cigarette on the ground, and ground it under his boot. 'Until you get divorced.'

'You going to the police now? Could you drop us off on the way?'

'I smell like horse.'

'Then go change.'

Silje left the newspaper in the passenger seat of Terje's pickup when she and Sophie got out at her house. Terje took it inside, entering the police station. He figured he could count on somewhat of a wait.

'Could I talk to detective Haugland?' he asked the receptionist at the front desk. 'About those animal abuse cases. Tell him it's Terje Hansen.'

'Detective Haugland's just gone out to lunch,' the receptionist said. 'I reckon he's back in an hour.'

Terje grabbed his phone and scrolled through his texts. Perhaps he could visit Nora while he waited. Disappointingly, Frode didn't respond when he asked. Terje took a seat, and flipped through the paper to read exactly what had happened to his neighbour.

*******

Frode returned from doing his weekly groceries to find Terje's pickup in his driveway unannounced. Terje looked up from reading a newspaper in the driver's seat when Frode parked his car.   

'Been sitting here long?' Frode asked when they both got out.

'A while,' Terje said. 'But I figured you couldn't have gone far with the dogs still at home.'

'The store.' Frode lifted two bags of groceries out of the boot of his car. 'What's up?'

'I was in the neighbourhood. The police station.' Terje picked up the remaining bag. 'You read the papers today? There was another attack on a farm not too far from mine.'  

'You need Nora with you?' Frode guessed.

'No. That guy knows I'll kill him when he comes near my property again.'

There was a tense anger in Terje's posture, but an undercurrent of fear in his voice.

'You already got targeted?'

'He hurt one of my cows. My nephew nearly got him. I was hoping the cops would've been able to use the clothes he left behind for evidence, but the DNA they found on there doesn't match anything they have in their database.'

‘That’s an absolute nightmare,' Frode said. He unlocked his door to carry his groceries inside. 'I hope you don't mind I've got some stuff to do. If you want to hang out with Nora, feel free.'

Terje didn't acknowledge Frode's words out loud, but sat down on the couch, quietly petting the dogs that vied for his attention. Nora jumped onto his lap. She had trouble balancing her rapidly growing body on his legs. Terje absently scratched behind ears that now stood mostly upright and guided her muzzle away with his hand when she tried to lick his chin in her enthusiasm.

'Hey, puppy! Did you learn anything new this week?'

'She's learned to sit still very well,' Frode called when he went to put his groceries away the kitchen.

'I'll believe that when I see it.'

By the sound of it, the hyper pup was still trying to slobber Terje’s face in her joy at seeing him.

'We have photographic evidence.' Frode walked over to his computer and gave the mouse a nudge. He rifled through a picture folder and brought up a portrait of Nora sitting pretty against a backdrop of late-blooming shrubs.    

Terje came closer to study the photo. 'Can I get a print of that?'

Frode glanced at him. 'You like it?'

'Yeah. That’d look nice in my office.'

'We're still working on the action shots.' Frode pulled up more photo's, mostly of Nora in motion, running flat-out with the weirdest expressions, all floppy ears and drawn lips exposing teeth and gums.

Terje laughed aloud at the sight. He took Nora out into the garden to play tug of war.

'It won't be long until she's ready to go back to the farm,' Frode said as he took the photo from the printer. 'Couple weeks, maybe.' 

'Right,' Terje said. ‘Great.'

Frode thought he detected some hesitation in Terje's voice. He leaned against the doorframe of the back door to watch them. 'She can come with you if you need her. She'll manage.'

'No,' Terje protested. 'That won't be necessary. I've still got Sammy, and a loaded rifle by the door. We'll be fine.'

'Okay. Want to learn a cool trick?' Frode fished three treats out of his pocket, and signed the silent commands he'd been teaching Nora. _Sit, down, hold_. He placed one treat on each of her front paws and one on her nose. Nora stayed like that, eyeing the treats but otherwise focused to wait on the command that meant she could eat them.

Terje's eyes shone with excitement, seeing how well she did. 'Can you teach me the sign language?'

Frode signed _good dog_ and _release_ to Nora, at which she gobbled down the treats and tore a lap around the garden in joy. 'Sure. Holding up your hand with the palm outward is sit, closing your fist is hold...'  

Terje wasn't a quick study by any means, though his slowness didn't frustrate him. He simply laughed when he got a sign in the sequence wrong again and Frode had to take his calloused hand to fold it into the correct one.

Frode eventually let it rest, and went back inside to look through job offers throughout the country online like he did every couple of days. Once something interesting came up, he would waste no time getting out of here.

'Hey, can we still hang out once Nora's back at the farm?' Terje asked, suddenly appearing behind Frode's desk chair.

'Yeah, of course. If I'm still around by then.'

Terje let an ominous silence stretch. 'What do you mean, _around_?'

'Around town. I might move away.'

'Why?'

'Don't make me spell it out for you,' Frode muttered, scrolling down the webpage.

'You know what, Frode? You need to stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself. One snooty girl turning you down isn't a reason to run away and burn every bridge behind you.'

'I'm not running away, and it's not because of Elise. But I can't work towards a job or a future of any kind in a town where everyone knows me as a junkie.'

Terje stomped outside through the back door as if he couldn't bear to be in the same room as Frode any longer, but he returned shortly after, smelling of smoke. Leaning on the back of Frode's chair, he asked: 'Where are you moving?'

'Haven't decided.'

'What are you doing now?'

'Looking for work.'

Terje peered over his shoulder. 'What, in Tromsø?'

'Why not?'

'You're not fit to work, Frode, for fuck's sake! You were drinking the other week, and don't tell me you weren't, because I could've lit your breath on fire the next day. You need to have your sick leave extended and stick with your damn therapy.'

Frode spun his desk chair around to face Terje, who frowned down on him. 'Sick leave isn't doing anything for me anymore. Medication isn't. I've had nearly two years of therapy. This is the end of the line. The only thing that's going to make it worth carrying on is if I can feel like a productive member of society again.'

When he tried to turn back to his computer to shut the argument down, Terje held his chair. 'You're a smart guy. Think of other options.'

'Well, I can think of one other option,' Frode snapped.

Terje leaned forward menacingly. 'What, you plan on ending up like your old man?'

Adrenalin fuelled rage flared up in Frode's chest. 'You're not listening to me!'

'You're saying that your only options are moving away or killing yourself! Is that a family trait, taking the easy way out? It's a good thing your relationships never worked out. At least you don't have any kids to find you when you're dangling from the rafters.'

Frode rose from his chair and pointed to the door with a shaking hand. 'Take your dog and get the fuck out.'

Terje opened his mouth uncertainly.

'Get out!' Frode screamed. Tears sprang into his eyes at the sheer force of his anger.

'Stop!' Terje commanded, grabbing a hold of his upper arms. 'You're overreacting.'

Frode squeezed his eyes shut, unable to cover them with his hands as Terje maintained his grip. 'Go away. I don't ever want to see your face here again!'

Terje squeezed Frode's arms painfully, forcing him to meet his eyes. 'What does your family think about this crackpot scheme, huh?'

Frode considered telling a lie, but what good would that do him? 'They don't know.'

'What about your friends?'

'You think I have any? I lost the respect of everyone I know. All that's left is my family's sympathy!' 

Terje shook him with rattling force. 'I respect you. We're friends!'

Terje held his gaze as if willing Frode to see his countless visits over the past weeks for what they were: excuses to reconnect, to talk and hang out. Then, slowly, he pulled Frode into a hug and tightened his arms around him; not to hurt or to force, but to comfort for once.

'I don't have that many real friends either,' Terje confessed over Frode's shoulder. 'Stay.'

 

*******

Terje sat staring blindly at his computer screen in his office. He was supposed to be doing administration, but the numbers all ran together in his mind because he kept dwelling on his blowout with Frode. He hated that he couldn't make himself understood without being harsh, but someone needed to tell Frode the truth. Frode needed to stop letting his shame weigh him down. If Terje could see what he was worth, surely other people would, too?   

Asbjørn stuck his head around the door, startling Terje out of his thoughts.

'Uncle Terje!' he said, a little out of breath with excitement. 'Kat is back!'

Terje followed Asbjørn out into the hall, where Kat stood bundled up in a coat and scarf, a suitcase at her feet. He wanted to hug her in relief, but wasn't certain it would be appreciated. 'Kat, hey! How are you?'

'I missed the farm,' she said with a wry smile.

‘I'm so glad to have you back. Did you enjoy Poland?'

‘Me and my mum had a wonderful time together. It was good.'

Terje made coffee while Kat hung up her coat. He sent Asbjørn back to work so they could talk in private, but Kat seemed to want to put her unfortunate crush behind her as quickly as possible. Terje asked her to tell him about her trip instead. She lost him when she listed the changes in her home town since the fall of communism, but the gist of it was that the average person was still fucked trying to make a living in that economy.

'Where's Nora?' Kat eventually asked.

'Frode is fostering her for me.'

'Wonderful,' Kat said, though she looked dubious.

Terje almost opened his mouth to protest that doubt. The dogs had absolute trust and respect for Frode, since they could only judge him by his merit as a pack leader and caretaker. In Frode's interactions with the animals a shadow of his former scope showed; he was knowledgeable, insightful and level-headed.

Frode had been the second-in-command of an oil rig, he'd told Terje a while back, responsible for all the machinery and the safety of the 160-man crew. And now he wanted to spend the rest of his life on a fishing vessel or labouring in the arctic circle, anything to get away from his mistakes. Terje hated that idea with his entire being.

When Kat got up to go to the bathroom, Terje idly flipped through the open newspaper on the table until he spotted a small ad asking for a variety of teachers for a high school a couple towns over. He felt stupid for thinking about it, but took scissors to the newspaper anyway, and put the clipping in his back pocket. When Kat took her suitcase upstairs to get settled in, he made his way to his van.

It rained heavily by the time Terje pulled up to Frode's cabin, so he forewent having a smoke. He got the idea Frode didn't really appreciate him leaving cigarette butts everywhere on his property anyway.   

Frode let him in without meeting his eyes or saying anything, likely still angry about the previous day, but Nora greeted Terje with enthusiasm. Frode didn't allow her to bark or jump at people she knew, so she rubbed her head against his legs and wove between them like an overgrown cat. Terje made an attempt to sign _good dog_ at her for the hell of it.

‘What was that supposed to mean?' Frode muttered.

Terje grinned apologetically. 'Show me the sign for good dog again?'

Frode folded Terje's fingers into the right position. The touch of his hands sent a jolt through Terje just like it had the day before. Try as he might, he couldn’t resist his attraction to Frode completely. It was like watching a burning car wreck on the side of the road. He couldn't help but slow down to take it all in; the raging fire of his emotions, the black smoke that choked the air around them with his moods, the burnt-out husk of him when the flames consumed everything. He couldn't look away. He wanted that inferno to light him up.

‘Why are you here?' Frode asked.

Terje fished the ad out of his back pocket. 'This made me think of you.'

Frode looked it over, his face clouding. He crumpled it up and tossed it back at Terje. 'You said I'm not fit to work.'

'But then you said you need work to feel better, and I thought... You know yourself better than I do. I don't want you to move away to waste yourself in the north, so here's a compromise.' Terje picked the wadded paper up off the floor and smoothed out the creases.

When Frode accepted it, Terje brushed back a strand of his ginger hair to make him meet his eyes. 'I need to get back to work. Tell me you'll at least think about it.'

 

*******

Terje returned to the cabin the same night. He brought in the cold, wet weather Frode had banished since his long walk with the dogs. Frode asked no questions when he barged in without a word and inspected the pans on the stove. 

'Did I tell you Kat is back?' Terje eventually asked. 

'She had a crush on you, right? Was it too soon after your ex-wife?'

Terje remained silent for a beat. 'Not really, but she's not my type.'

'Elise?' Frode ventured, which earned him a laugh.

'Elise is the bratty little sister I never asked for. And you know what?' Terje followed him to the living room after Frode heaped pasta onto a plate. 'You're better off without her. I don't think she would've taken care of you if you ever needed her.'

Frode sat down to watch the rugby match on the sports channel. 'That wasn't on her.'

'I disagree. As a partner, you should want to help the person you love when they need you the most. Whatever's going on.' Terje stretched his feet out under the coffee table. There was a massive hole in one of his thick woollen socks that left his middle toes bare. 'That pasta smells good.'  

Frode offered him a bite off his fork, which Terje accepted by taking the fork from him.

'Why don't you come work at the farm and cook for me?' Terje mused, laughing to himself about the idea as Frode finished his meal. 'You'd have to clean Asbjørn’s nasty den, too, and pick up after the kids.'

'Piss off.'

Returning with two beers after putting away his plate, Frode handed Terje one. To his merit, Terje didn't bat an eye. He seemed content to keep his opinions to himself for once, and watch the match.

After a while, Terje set his empty bottle aside and slung his free arm over the back of the couch - or so Frode thought. He tensed when it settled heavily on his shoulders. Terje sent him an appraising sideways glance when he didn't protest, and allowed himself a small smile.

Terje waited until Frode finished his beer to ask: 'I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day. Would you mind?’

Frode initially didn't take his eyes off the screen. 'I know I have a disproportionately high tolerance for alcohol, but did you get drunk on that one beer?'

Terje laughed and said: 'Shut up.'

Frode felt his breath against the side of his face. It flushed his skin with warmth, driving home how touch-starved he felt since the abrupt end of his relationship with Elise. Now that he considered it, he found he didn’t mind the idea of making out with Terje. Kissing him would be an effective way to prevent him from talking shit.

He relaxed into Terje's one-armed embrace eventually, and laid a hand on his thigh to see what would happen. Quiet contentment radiated off Terje in waves as he cradled Frode’s head and placed a kiss on his temple. After sitting like that for a minute, Frode abandoned his reservations and shifted to press their lips together with a mixture of uncertainty and excitement that made his breath come short. Terje kissed him back with a gentle hand on the back of his neck, the other caressing his arms and torso through his shirt. The solid warmth of him through their clothes eased a big, terrible loneliness between them.           

Terje urged him to straddle his lap, his usual deceptive stoicism giving way to lay bare oppressive yearning. The way he grasped Frode's hips and back was borderline painful, the way he kissed unmatched in explicit sexual desire. The tension in the hard lines of his body begged for release.    

Frode ran his hands through Terje's short curls. 'Want to fuck?'

Terje pressed his face against Frode’s chest. 'Oh god, yeah. Please.'

Frode studied Terje as he stripped at the foot of the bed and joined him between the sheets. His body had the look of endless days of hard labour; heavy, functional muscle shaped his tall frame. The coarse, wheat-blond hair that dusted his chest glinted in the overhead light, and though he had as many freckles and moles as Frode, his seemed a more natural part of his skin. The uncomfortable push and pull of their relationship blinded Frode to just how attractive he found Terje before, but seeing him naked opened his eyes to more than one thing he hadn't known he wanted.

'Have you been fucked before?' Terje asked, rolling Frode onto his stomach to kiss a trail down his spine.

'No, I usually do the fucking,' Frode said, reaching out to touch whichever parts of Terje he could reach. 'But I wouldn't mind to try.' 

'Okay. Don't worry. I'll go slow.'

Frode didn't worry. He gave up his body, unafraid and unashamed as Daniel taught him by example, and let Terje fuck him face to face as if there was any love lost between them after all. And maybe there was. Terje held his gaze and asked what he liked and read his body language as if they'd been doing this for ages. They fit.

The release he found only melted away the tension in Terje’s body for a short while. As he stirred in Frode’s arms, Frode could see the fear and doubt take root in his mind.  

He suddenly sat up, covers pooling around his waist. 'You don't have aids or anything, do you?'

His tone carried the same icy dread Frode felt at the realisation that they'd neglected to use protection. Frode's heart sank. Of course Terje was afraid he'd catch something from him. He just fucked a junkie. 

'I guess you'll find out in three to six short months if you get tested tomorrow,' Frode said, unable to hide his hurt.

Terje threw the covers off and got out of bed. 'Just tell me if you're clean or not!'

'And you'd believe me?' Frode asked as Terje gathered up his clothes. 'I don't think anyone else would take my word for it. Isn't that why you fucked me, of all people? Because it's a safe feeling that no one would believe me if it was my word against yours?'

'Damn you, Frode, why do you have to be like this?' Terje exclaimed, angrily yanking his belt through the loops of his jeans.

Despite Terje’s attempt to turn the argument back around on him, Frode saw his suspicions confirmed on Terje's face. 'Does anyone else know you're gay?'

Terje’s voice shook with barely contained emotion. 'Out me to anyone and I'll kill you.'

An ashen taste lingered in Frode’s mouth when the door fell shut behind Terje. He told himself he could take this. It wasn't as bad as the things Terje said to him the day before.


	14. Chapter 14

 

In line with his advice to Terje, Frode made an appointment to get tested for STI’s two weeks later. Unfortunately, Espen appeared the exact moment he meant to leave for the clinic. Frode was glad for the company, seeing as he hadn’t really spoken to anyone since Terje left his house in anger, but he did have to come up with an excuse on the spot to leave Espen with the dogs for a while.

The bleak interior of the clinic reflected his mood back at him as he sat down in the waiting room. Two years prior, he’d been here with Daniel. The questions and the physical exam felt more invasive this time around. Before Daniel, he'd never had unprotected sex. Before Daniel, he never got called junkie on a regular basis.

With the assurance he'd get his results the next week, Frode went back home, his lie to Espen forgotten.

'Did you get anything good for lunch? I'm starving!' Espen peered around him to see where Frode had left his groceries. His face turned pensive. 'You didn't go to the store, did you? You were gone a long damn time.'

'I'll go right now. Text me what you want to eat.'

Espen stopped him with a firm grip on his arm. 'Is there something going on? Where have you been?'

Frode could see he worried, and felt bad about saddling Espen with a mystery when he ought to be focused on studying.

'I had an appointment to get tested for STI's. Do you ever do that?'

Espen shrugged. 'I always have safe sex.'

'Still, you should make a habit of it, especially since you and Daniel aren't exclusive. Don't think that because he's smart in every other way, that he's smart about this.' 

Espen pulled a face. 'I know. I'm careful around him until he's ready to commit. If he ever will be.'

Frode felt a twinge of old guilt stir in his gut. Daniel had had no trouble committing to him in the past. Had he ruined relationships for Daniel?

'Only he knows how much time he needs to heal, and what he wants when he does,' Frode said. And: 'I'm sorry.'

Espen regarded him for a moment, reading the remorse on Frode's face. He bit his lip. 'Don't be. If you hadn't fucked up, I'd never have had any part of Dan.'

Frode sighed.

'You think you got something from Elise?' Espen tried.

'No, it was just to be sure.'

'Are you seeing someone else?'

Frode crossed his arms and looked away. 'I had one stupid hook-up.'

Espen tried to drag him down the hall to interrogate him further. 'You can tell me, it's alright. You know I don't judge.'

Frode stood his ground. 'I know you don't, but that person asked me not to tell anyone.'

'Well, was it any good, at least?'

Frode shrugged. 'Could've been better.'

'It usually takes a bit of practice with someone new. Better invite them over again.'

Frode tried to suppress the involuntary arousal he felt every time he thought of Terje on top of him before his face would turn red. 'No, don't get me wrong, the sex wasn't the issue. They got scared, thinking I'd probably be disease-ridden because of my past habits, and I made it worse by getting angry about that assumption, so they left with something of a death-threat and that was that.'

'Damn. What a shame.'

In the pocket of his jeans, Frode's phone started ringing. Thinking of Terje, he checked the caller ID.

'Sorry Sheepie, this could be important.' He picked up. 'Frode Stedjeberg.'

'This is Hilde Aamundsen. You sent us your resume for a position as a chemistry teacher.'

'Right, yes,' Frode said. 'Thanks for calling back.'

'I'm scheduling interviews with our candidates, and I was wondering if next Thursday is an option for you.'

'Thursday suits me.'

'How's ten in the morning?'

'Excellent. I'll be there.'

Espen stared at him expectantly.

'I have a job interview,' Frode said with no small amount of wonder, writing the appointment on his calendar.

'What for? You never told me you were ready to work again!'

'I've been thinking about it ever since I started dating Elise. But now the end of my sick leave is coming up and I'm off my meds... It's high time.'

'What did you apply for?'

'A teaching position. It hasn't been easy finding something suited to my skills and experience around here.'

‘Why don’t you come to Oslo if this doesn’t pan out? There's got to be something engineering-related there, and I definitely wouldn't mind having you live closer.'

Frode smoothed a hand across Espen's hair. 'It's not a bad idea. Now, what do feel like eating?'

 

*******

Terje stood scraping cow dung off the rubber mats in the barn when a young man with white curls wandered in, curiously casting about with Nora at his side. Terje felt his heart sink. It was Frode's little brother. Espen extended a careful hand to a curious cow's nose.

'What's up, Espen?'

‘Cool place you've got here,' Espen said. 'Frode was just showing me his dad's old farm.' 

'You never saw it before?'

'No. He never used to talk about his dad.' Espen let out a startled yelp when the cow's tongue rasped his hand. 'Oh! It chafes.' 

'Yeah, it's to tear grass with.' Terje tossed his scraper into a corner and absently pet Nora's ruff. 'Where's your brother?'

Terje didn't want their first encounter to be with other people watching after he ran from Frode's house in a panic. If he saw Frode now, how was he going to apologise for that night? It had been so good. Frode's electric blue eyes holding his. The way his scarred upper lip peeled back from his teeth when he threw back his head. His body, hard and hot and tight.

He had no idea how to go on from this point. Frode saw through his motives with terrifying ease, and it made Terje's skin crawl with danger to be read so accurately. Of course Terje would rely on Frode's reputation to deny that they were involved, but to have Frode take him to task for it before it ever happened wounded the part of Terje that longed for an honest, meaningful relationship for once in his life.

'Frode is in the house, talking to your wife. She told me to come get you for coffee.'

Terje didn't bother to tell Espen Kat wasn’t his wife. 'Good, my back could use a break.'

Espen's phone buzzed incessantly on the walk from the barn to the farm house. He eventually shot a text back with a sigh.

'Is your girl unhappy?' Terje asked, because he knew that face from Asbjørn.

'My boyfriend wants me to come home. My girl isn’t so demanding.'

Without giving himself a chance to filter his words before they came out of his mouth, Terje asked: 'You a full time fairy or a part timer like your brother?' 

Espen laughed. ‘I'm bi, yeah, if that's what you mean.'

'Does it run in your family or something?'

Espen put on a lecturing air. 'In a way. Did you know that the chances of having a gay son increase with every male that inhabits a mother’s womb? I've got two older brothers. It's a miracle I like girls at all.'

'How does that work?' Terje asked, thinking about his own position among his siblings.

'Have you heard of epigenetic markers? The gene for homosexuality gets switched on more frequently in the womb when a mother already has a bunch of sons kicking up a ruckus and breeding left and right. Because a higher emotional intelligence is linked to that gene, you see? Gay kids are theoretically good for the social cohesion of a big family.'

Terje frowned, trying to process the mind-blowing information Frode's little brother casually dumped on him. 'But Frode is the first son.'

'High stress during pregnancy has the same effect, I've heard. Perhaps our mother needed a smart, empathetic child at the time, perhaps it was just chance. Or perhaps Frode's preference is circumstantial rather than genetic. He generally goes after girls.'

'Interesting,' Terje said slowly. He wished he could ask more without drawing the wrong kind of attention to himself.

Espen let out a quiet laugh. 'Part time fairy. I'll put that in my Instagram description.' 

He stepped out of his combat boots at the scullery door, and cleaned Nora's paws on the mat the same way Frode always did. Terje sauntered into the kitchen after him as soon as he ditched the coveralls caked in cow dung. 

Frode's face lit up when they entered, but his smile was for Espen, Terje could tell. Still, he grabbed the chair next to Frode. Nora immediately jumped on his lap. She was fast outgrowing the available space on his legs.

Frode's voice was more friendly than it had any right to be when he spoke. 'Looks like she missed you a lot.'

Terje wrapped his arms around Nora, wishing he could hug Frode instead. 'I missed her too.'

'I brought some more pictures I thought you might like.’   

Frode took a big white envelope from his worn, mud-spattered bag. It contained glossy photos wrapped in a piece of paper that looked like and obsolete letter from a government institution or a hospital. As Terje passed the photos on to his overeager nephew one by one, he couldn't help but glance at the table on the letter. They were test results for every common STI. Frode tested negative for all of them, including HIV. Seeing that Terje read it, Frode took the paper back and made it disappear before either Asbjørn or Kat looked up from the photos.

'Thanks,' Terje said in an unsteady voice. 'I'll see if I can make time to come visit her this weekend.'

Frode looked confused for a moment. 'She's ready, Terje. We came to bring her home.' 

Terje caught himself before his face fell. Frode had come here to close the door on the two of them. 'Right. I wish I'd thought of an appropriate way to thank you.'

'Send me a picture once in a while, so I can see how she's growing up,' Frode said. 'I'd like that.'

Terje talked over the sick desperation swirling in his gut. 'So, ah… What are you going to be up to now? How's the job hunt going?'

'I've got an interview tomorrow.'

'Where, on Svalbard?' Terje asked sullenly.

'Gjøvik. I might have to move some mountains to get cleared to teach since I've technically been detained twice, I don’t know. Wish me luck.'

Gjøvik. The position Terje tipped him off on. Perhaps Frode didn’t mean to disappear forever. Terje took a deep breath. 'Good luck. Let me know how it went.'  


	15. Chapter 15

Jens looked a little worse for wear when he showed up at Frode's cabin at eight in the morning with Marte on his hand.

'You didn't have to come over at this hour,' Frode said.

'Marte was awake at six anyway, and it's my duty as the wiser brother to make sure you go into this interview well-prepared.'

Frode cut them both slices of the still warm bread he'd baked overnight. Espen already sat eating at the kitchen table. He pushed his plate away and held his arms out for Marte, who immediately brought her little hand down into the jam on his bread when she settled on his lap.

'So, what's your strategy?' Jens asked when they were all seated. 'How are you going to sell it to them?'

Frode took a sip of coffee. 'I was hoping those two master's degrees were going to sell themselves.'

'Well, they're not in teaching, are they?'

'True,' Frode admitted.

'You have to have some philanthropic motive, they love that. Something about helping children. Can't just slap your degrees on the table and go: Statoil laid me off and I need money.'  

Frode shook his head with a laugh. 'How about I say that I want to interest more kids in pursuing careers in STEM fields?'

Jens nodded slowly. 'That's actually a good one. And perhaps something about trying to tackle the gender bias in the way teachers grade students' work.'

'They what now?' Frode asked, perplexed.

'Most science teachers, even the women, grade their female students lower for comparable performances.'

'That's... disgusting,' Frode brought out. 'You mean like the wage gap but with grades? That's a thing?'

Jens nodded sagely. 'Raising awareness among staff helps, I've found. And now you know to check yourself, too. I'd better not find you undervaluing my daughter's work in twelve years.'

After Frode put on his suit, Espen and Jens appraised Frode's looks from where they changed Marte's nappy on the couch.

'Passable?'   

'You look more formal than any professor I've ever seen,' Espen said, distracting Marte with his key ring as Jens wielded a wet wipe, 'but I guess a suit isn't great when you're up to your elbows in a bog corpse.'    

Jens shot Frode a sideways look. 'Well, I hope you considered this properly, because they might actually hire you, and it isn't the easiest job out there.'

'I have.'

'Did you manage to get your criminal record sorted?'

'I did. Since they didn't detain me for a felony, there's nothing on my record.'

'Good. Are you nervous?'

'Yes.'

'Don't be. You can do this.'

There were lessons in full session at the school when Frode arrived. Daydreaming teens looked through the windows with mild curiosity when they saw him pass. Frode distantly wondered whether he was suited for this work at all, trying to explain stuff that had become second nature to him with a room full of bored gazes on him every hour of the day. If he got the job, he would have to sit Jens down and make him explain how he did it some time.

He found his way to administration, where he was told to wait for the commission that would interview him. Sitting there, Frode didn't feel as overwhelmed as he feared he would.

The commission that invited him into an empty classroom consisted of three people; a stout maths teacher in her late thirties - the woman he'd spoken to on the phone, Hilde - a middle-aged, balding physics teacher, and an ageless chemistry teacher with short salt-and-pepper curls. The older physics teacher seemed tired and harried, but the other two were friendly and welcoming.

The chemistry teacher had a copy of Frode's resume and his motivational letter in a file folder, and opened it so they could all see what it said. He sent Frode an inquisitive smile.

'So... Frode. Thanks for coming.'

'Thank you for having me.'

'You have a very interesting resume, I must say.' The chemistry teacher glanced at the paper in front of him. 'You were employed by Statoil before? What made you decide to switch careers?'

Frode took a deep breath and bent the truth to suit his needs. 'The way the work is structured in combination with the location made me feel isolated. I loved the job and it gave me a lot of satisfaction, but you're either completely cut off from the world and working around the clock, or you're sitting at home for a month while everyone else works. It put a strain on my social life, mostly.'

'And what makes you think you are qualified to teach?'

'My knowledge is not just theoretical. I studied the sciences extensively in an academic setting, but I also have five years of experience putting that knowledge into practice. During those five years I've also learned leadership capabilities and safety management, which I think make me fit to work in a school environment.'

'You don't have a teaching degree, I see,' said the physics teacher. 'Would you be willing to acquire one next to your activities as a teacher?'

'Of course. I'm highly motivated to take this step.'

Hilde took Frode's letter in hand. 'Why are you so motivated to become a teacher? You're an engineer.'

'My brother is currently working as a chemistry teacher, and seeing him at work reminded me how much of a responsibility teachers have shaping the students' future in a constructive way. Instilling them with a passion for science is an important contribution to society in my opinion. That's what I'd love to do. Leave the kids with a positive impression and an applicable skillset by the time they get their diploma. Warm more of them to STEM subjects.'

'I'd be interested to hear how you plan to accomplish that,' Hilde said.

'I want to work towards decreasing the gender bias in the way science subjects are graded, for starters.'

The male teachers exchanged glances Frode couldn’t read very well.

When they inquired about his hobbies, he mentioned photography and hiking as if he still did that as passionately as before his depression. It took quite some bending of the truth to put himself in a more favourable light, but he figured he'd make up for it by working hard if they decided to give him a shot.

'Alright Frode, I think we got to know you a bit better.' Hilde concluded the interview. 'Do you have any questions for us?'

'I do. It said in the ad that the position is for thirty-two hours a week... Is that all teaching classes?'

'That's including the preparations and grading you'd have to do outside of classes.'

Walking back to administration with the teachers, Frode found the prospect of working at this school quite a pleasant one. Thirty-two hours seemed manageable, the building looked orderly and inviting, and well-behaved students worked in the hallways and the media centre they passed.

'Thank you for your time, Frode,' the chemistry teacher said, shaking his hand. 'We'll get back to you by Monday at the latest.'

It turned out Frode didn't have to wait that long for an answer. Hilde called him back the next day.

'Listen, Frode, I know you applied to teach chemistry, but we already made our pick for that position. However, we could definitely use someone of your calibre around here. Could I persuade you to come teach mathematics instead?'

'Yes,' Frode said without thinking. 'I'd love to.'

Espen peered up at him expectantly when Frode pocketed his phone.

'I didn't get the chemistry gig, but they offered me maths. I can start after the autumn break.'

'That's great, right? On your first try, even.'

'The advantage of a couple of good degrees, I suppose.'

'Noted,' said Espen. 'You know what? I think you should call Terje.'

 

*******

Frode might have promised Terje to let him know how the interview went, but Terje didn't hear from him on Thursday and most of Friday. Only the time Terje spent asleep brought down his average of checking his phone every ten minutes until a call came through. Shaking silage into the cows’ feeding troughs early on Friday evening, he finally heard the ringtone he’d been so hyper-focused on. He stabbed his pitchfork into the thick slabs on his wheelbarrow, and picked up. ‘Frode, hey! How did it go?'

'You’ll never believe this,' Frode said. 'I just got a call back from the school. They gave me a job.'

'That’s great! Are you looking forward to it?'

'Yeah, in a way. I'm glad I don't need to do a teaching degree until next year, though. That might've been a bit too much at this point.'

'Look at it this way, it'd keep you off the streets.' Terje heard Frode’s incredulous laughter on the other side of the line. He lowered his voice. 'Hey... I know I've been an idiot, and I'm sorry. You think we could hang out some time this weekend?'

'Espen is still at my place, but you can come over if that's worth it to you.'

'Of course. It sucked not seeing you for so long.'

'I was right here.'   

When Terje found himself with nothing urgent to do around the farm on Saturday afternoon, it took every ounce of willpower he had not to go bug Frode earlier than promised. Watching Nora trot up and down the dirt track after Asbjørn eventually gave him an idea. He threw on some clean clothes and drove his pickup to the city.

Kat eyed him with interest upon his return shortly before milking, and took the paper bag with his purchase from him.

'What's this?' She pulled the heavy leather messenger bag out.

'A bag,' Terje said defensively. 'You can put stuff in it and carry it around.'

'Fancy. What do you need it for?'

He suppressed a sigh when Kat cocked her head at him. 'Frode got that teaching gig. I still owe him thanks for raising my pup, so I thought he could probably use this...'

Kat turned it over in her hands. 'It's really nice. Did you pick this out yourself?'

'Did you mean to sound as if you're talking to a five year old?'

'Guys aren't usually so thoughtful about gifts.'

'You need to meet some better guys.'

After dinner, Kat followed him into the hallway. 'Aren't you afraid he'll take this the wrong way?'

'Wrong how?'

She nearly whispered: 'Didn't you say he's actually gay? Don't you think that if you spend a lot of time with him and give him nice gifts, he'll start to fancy you?'

'He dated a guy _once_ , and that one was halfway a girl, long hair and all. It's not like I'm his type or anything.' 

Terje snatched up the paper bag with his gift and got into his truck. The irony was that though he might not be Frode’s type, Frode was very much his type. He'd always been attracted to tall, brawny men with scruff and big, capable hands. He supposed it didn't matter either way. It wasn’t as if they had any sort of future together.  

'I got you something,' he told Frode when he stepped into the cabin's narrow hall. He pushed the paper bag into Frode's hands.

Frode studied the gift with a look of wonder. 'Are you serious?'

'Thanks for taking care of Nora and congrats on the job and everything.' 

Frode ran a hand over the smooth, amber coloured leather. ‘I love it.’

‘I saw you had shoes in that colour, so…’

Frode smiled widely, and even though his scar pulled his mouth into something akin to a grimace, Terje was glad to see it.

'I appreciate everything you've done for me the last couple of months,’ Frode said. ‘I guess I needed someone to call me out and kick my arse sometimes at this point.'

'Even if I was an utter prick about it?'

Frode merely smiled his crooked smile.

'Where's your brother?'

Frode nodded toward a closed door at the end of the hall. 'In his room, revising.'

'Espen, how are you?' Terje called. There was no answer.

'He probably has his headphones on.'

Terje balanced the dog toys strewn through the hall against the door so they'd fall when it opened, and shot Frode a questioning look. Frode gave him a curt nod, and allowed Terje to put his arms around him.

Warmth suffused Terje where they touched, and he tried to give some of that back in the way he brushed Frode's hair out if his face. He placed a kiss on Frode's nose. 'I'm really sorry about the other week.'

Frode nodded slowly. 'If you don't want to come out, no one will hear it from me. You could've phrased it differently, though.'

One of the hands that Frode rested on his hips crept up along his side, drawing Terje's attention to how much he wished they were alone.

'Espen leaves tomorrow afternoon,' Frode said.

'I'll be there if I can come up with a good excuse. Kat is getting suspicious.'  

'If you do, could you do me a favour and not smoke in advance?'

Terje self-consciously scratched through his hair.

Somehow they ended up watching the show jumping on the sports channel like Terje had told Kat they would. Terje wasn't actually that invested in the outcome of the show in Järvenpää, but he kept track of the contestants with half an eye on the TV and his nose buried in Frode’s hair. Frode lounged against him, with his head on Terje's shoulder. He gave only a faint hum of recognition when Elise appeared in the ring on Imperious.

'You miss her?' Terje asked.

'No,' said Frode. 'Not her, to be honest.'

'The boy with the cat,' Terje guessed. And when Frode didn't respond: 'Who was he to you?'

Frode let out a defeated sigh. 'The love of my life.'

Having seen a picture only once, it was hard to imagine what was so special about that gloomy kid, or why Frode still lived with the ghost of him. 

'Why didn't it work?' Terje wondered.

'Because I'm garbage.'

Terje wasn't sure what to say to that. 'How long were you guys together?'

'I dunno. Couple months.'

'That's not very long. How can you say he was the love of your life?'

'How does anyone know?' Frode shrugged. 'He was everything to me, and I don't expect to experience anything like it again.'

'Then why hook up with Elise at all? Or me?'

'I guess I was naive about my prospects when I met Elise.'

'And now?'

'Now I'm just waiting for the sweet embrace of death.’

In the hallway, the stack of dog toys fell over with a squeak. Strider leapt up and trotted to Espen's door. Terje pressed a last kiss to Frode's hair, and moved a foot to the left.

'Hey buddy,' Espen said to the dog. 'Did you want to play with me? You're in luck, I'm done for tonight.' He rummaged around in the kitchen for a moment before calling to Frode in dismay. 'All the snacks are gone.'

Frode shot Terje the faintest smile. 'Because he ate everything.' 

'Perhaps we could have some pizza delivered.’

'Oh please, can we?' Espen shouted, skidding across the floorboards in the hall on his socks. He leapt onto the armrest next to Terje. 'You order the pizza, I'll set up a cool board game.'

 

*******

Fatherhood hadn't exactly worked wonders for Jens' form, Frode noticed when they went on a stroll from their mother's house to the lake before dinner. Now that it was time to hike back up the mountain, Jens huffed and puffed under the weight of his daughter in the colourful sling on his back.

'Are you alright there, Jens?' Frode interrupted Jens’ winded explanation of the teenage brain in relation to learning.

'You try carrying this little tyke. She's heavier than she looks.'

'I carried Espen uphill when we went out and he got a blister the other week.'

'Good. Hold still.' Jens set Marte down and strapped the sling around Frode's chest.  

'What are you talking about? She's feather-light,' Frode teased as Jens kneaded his own neck and shoulder muscles.

Jens ignored the remark. 'So the last part of the prefrontal cortex to mature is the frontal lobe, which regulates the executive functions like planning, judgement and reasoning. That means students actually need all the help they can get to manage these tasks. Also, the teenage brain is highly vulnerable to stress and threats. What I see a lot is that students have chronic stress from school because their HPA axis' are switched on all the time.'

'Remind me what the HPA axis is again,' Frode requested. He covered Marte's chubby fists with his hands. They were a tad on the cold side.

'Hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenalin.'

'Right. Shouldn't Marte be wearing gloves?'

'I guess it's about time to dig those up.' Jens tossed the tennis ball Strider found at the lake and kept bringing back to them. 'How's it going with you, besides going back to work?'

'Not much going on,' Frode lied.

'Espen told me you have an actual friend now.'

'Terje, yeah. Friend is an overstatement, though. We get on each other's nerves a lot.'

'What's the story there?'

'I raised his dog. He came over to hang out with the puppy a lot, and as it turned out we get along when we're not talking too much.'

'Espen made it sound better.'

'What did he say?'

'That this guy seemed genuinely interested in you as a person and looks after you a bit.'

'He has good intentions, no doubt,' Frode muttered, cautious about revealing exactly how deep his connection with Terje ran.

Terje had appeared early that morning when Frode went back to bed after walking Strider. It would've startled Frode to hear the back door suddenly open at that hour, but the distinctive rumble of Terje's pickup had given him away.

Terje shed his barn clothes in the hall and crawled into bed with him, cold from having been outside since way before dawn. He murmured something about Frode's laziness as he warmed himself to Frode's back.

'Do you mind this?' he'd asked, nuzzling the back of Frode's neck as they lay curled up under the covers.

'What?'

'Me bothering you for sex every hour of the day now.'

Frode laughed quietly. 'What about me says I mind getting laid regularly? I could fuck an oven mitt since I'm off my meds, so it might as well be you.'

When Frode made breakfast in the kitchen later, Terje jumped him with an oven mitt as a sock puppet, making kissing noises as he smushed it all over Frode's face. Frode sagged against the fridge with unexpected, helpless laughter, throwing up his arms to protect himself from the sock puppet assault.

'That oven mitt has nothing on me,' Terje decided. 'You like me best.'

Jens studied Frode as they walked. 'You still think about that Elise a lot?'

'To be honest, I got over her pretty quickly with the way it ended. I guess it was more the prospect of being alone forever that got to me.'

Jens gave a slight wince, but said nothing else. 

Back at the house, Frode took Marte out of the sling and set her down. When Daniel appeared at the other end of the hall and called her, she clung to Frode's leg and hid her face.

‘What’s this?’ Frode asked, running a hand across her sleek ginger hair. 'You were fine singing with uncle Dan earlier.' 

Daniel let Marte abuse his guitar for a while to entertain her after her nap. She plucked the strings with glee to listen to the notes they produced, and imitated them fairly accurately with her voice. Something inside Frode had died at the way Daniel shot him a proud smile over her head, haunting him with what could have been. If only that damn accident hadn't happened. If only he'd been stable. They could have grown together as people, and gotten married, and adopted a bunch of kids. If only, if only.

Daniel followed him when he carried Marte over to the sofa. 'You look good.’

'Thanks. I'm doing pretty okay. It's like I'm finally in motion again.'

'I imagine that's a good feeling.'

'It's not bad, after standing still so long. What about you?'

'I feel more like I'm about to get motion sick. Things are moving so fast and I'm struggling to keep up... But I've been told that's part of the deal when you're doing a PhD.'

'Excellence usually comes at a price. But you'll pull through.'

Daniel nodded. 'I always do. Out of all my acquired skills, I learned to value knowing how to take care of myself most.'


	16. Chapter 16

Entering the school early on Monday morning with a heavy book bag, Frode felt somewhat like a nervous teenager again. He set up his classroom well ahead of time after shooting Hilde some last minute questions they hadn't covered on the days he'd observed her at work, and waited for students to arrive. It was a class like any other, with the quiet, studious kids arriving first, and the troublemakers last.  

He immediately singled out the kids that displayed behaviour he didn't tolerate, denying them the benefit of group anonymity. It took him less than five minutes after the last bell to achieve complete silence.

'Good morning, everyone. I'm Frode. I'll be teaching you maths. I'm all about creating a good learning environment for motivated students and students that need help. If for some reason you feel like you don't belong to either group, kindly shut up or face the consequences. Questions about the subject matter or related sciences are always welcome. Let's do a head count so I can learn your names.'

Halfway through the list of students, a boy in baggy clothes and a tacky trucker cap sauntered into the classroom without so much as an apology and tried to sit down at the back of the class. 

'You,' Frode said. 'Go get a late slip. Back in three minutes. I'm keeping track.'

He tapped his watch and dismissed him.

The kid sighed loudly and irritably, and left the door ajar on his way out. A second boy, with shoulder-length brown hair and a long pink jumper over his black skinny jeans, slipped in. He met Frode's eyes timidly.

'Good morning. Sorry I'm late, but I-'

‘What’s your name?’

‘Jonas…’

‘Sit down quickly, Jonas,' Frode said.

The other students began to protest.

'Why doesn't he have to get a late slip?' a girl in heavy make-up demanded, clutching a fake designer bag on her lap.

'Because I appreciate manners and prefer not to waste time.’ He stood up and tested the grip of a piece of chalk in his right hand, hovering it over the blackboard. ‘Grab your books. I want to do a recap of everything you've learned this year to see if there will be any problems building on that knowledge.'

A collective sigh of relief went through the students when he opened the book at chapter one. He randomly selected students to answer questions, praising cooperativeness and effort as much as correct answers. It was a bit like behavioural for dogs, he found.

'Where are you from, Frode?' A blonde girl that looked like a direct copy of the friend next to her drew the class' attention away from the exercise on the board.

'Stavanger,' he said automatically.

'Where do you live now?' 

'Closer. Any questions about maths?'

'Are you married?' her friend asked.

'No.'

'Seeing someone?'

He shrugged. 'Sort of, not that it's any of your business.'

'What's her name?'

'He wouldn't want me to tell you,' Frode said, flustered by the interrogation.

A quiet titter went through the classroom.

'You want to volunteer something about yourselves, or can we get back to business?'

Frode had hoped to get more done in the double hour, but the students' attention flagged as soon as the first was over, and after allowing them a ten minute break to talk amongst themselves, he spent the rest of the time picking at gaps in their knowledge. During the last fifteen minutes, the more curious students pressed him about his personal life again, so he turned it around on them, letting them introduce themselves to him. It gave him a good impression of their personalities and aspirations. Most of the class loved to talk about themselves, proudly mentioning their pursuits and friendships, but Frode found himself more intrigued by the shy and reticent students. He wished he had more time to draw them out of their shell. Still, the atmosphere was pretty good when the class filed out of the room at the sound of the bell.

Frode felt a sudden, premature exhaustion catch up with him when silence fell, but he was determined to keep it up for the remaining three hours he still had to teach.

Hilde stuck her head into his classroom during the hour before the break, when he had no class. Frode looked up from studying the material for his next.

'How's it going, Frode?'

'Well, I think. We covered quite some ground this morning.'

'Did you have any trouble keeping order with 2B? They can be a rowdy bunch.'

'Can't say I have. I think they got that I have no tolerance for disorder.'

'Good. Good for you. So you'll make it through the day, I trust?'

'I will.' Frode looked around the dull classroom for a second. 'Can I put up posters and things in here?'

'Sure,' Hilde said with a laugh.

'One more thing... Is there somewhere students can go when they have personal or mental health issues?'

Hilde's expression turned serious. 'They have mentors, and the school has two councillors. I'm not sure how comfortable the students feel dropping in with questions. But they're there.'

That threshold would have to be lowered somehow, Frode thought. It was something that would have made his life easier, being able to say he couldn't manage sometimes. That he missed his father so much it physically hurt. That there was no comfort in his absent mother and the stepfather he couldn't bond with. That sometimes it was too much to have to monitor Jens' mental health and achievements and babysit Espen to boot. That it was lonely having no real friends while being surrounded by an abundance of peers. He had always tried to solve his own problems, and look where that got him. 

During the break, Hilde introduced him to more members of the science faculty. Frode struggled to remember their names, but a lot of them seemed like people he could get along with if he tried. A biology teacher with a short, flaxen haircut took him under her wing when she patrolled the grounds during lunch. She showed him the usual spots where students got up to mischief varying from vandalism to drug use, and broke up a fight with a long-suffering patience. He tried not to feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of this operation, where the limited staff were fully responsible for keeping the situation manageable for themselves and the large, uncooperative student population. Work on the rig might have been complex and high-risk, but at least everyone present there was dedicated to the work.

One day at a time, he told himself, finding his way back to the classroom for the last lesson of the day. He would survive this day, then this week, and then this month. He would make up the balance at the end of his probation period. 

 

*******

'Sit down, Terje,' Kat said from the living room on Friday night. 'The work is done. You're making Nora jittery.'

Nora followed Terje from the kitchen to the living room, and lay down at his feet when he took a seat. 'The work is never done.'

'You don't normally have this much trouble unwinding at the end of the day.' Kat sipped her tea and glanced outside. 'Maybe it's the moon.'

The moon's bright white surface reflected light on the snow-covered slope outside. If anything, the pale light was calming, like the quiet, frosty night. Terje didn’t respond to Kat’s remark. Of course it wasn't the damn moon, but what could he say? He wanted to go see Frode instead of being stuck here on the farm. 'Can we watch something else than this dime-a-dozen talent show?'

'Hell no,' Asbjørn protested. 'I just voted for a former classmate, I need to see what happens. Why don't you go watch sports at Frode's or something?'

'Listen, you little shit,' Terje began, but he had his phone in hand to alert Frode before he finished his sentence.

Frode's cabin looked incredibly inviting when Terje got out of his pickup, with warm light spilling outside onto the frozen ground and sparks flying out of the chimney. He stepped inside and closed the door quickly against the cold, feeling instantly lighter. He wrapped his arms around Frode and buried his face against the soft wool of his jumper. Frode's hands came up to clutch his back. His short beard rasped against Terje's ear. It was hard to stop once they started kissing, but Terje tried to be considerate.

'How was work? Did you get through the week okay?'

'We can talk later,' Frode said in a rough voice.

Terje pulled Frode's jumper over his head in a flash of blue and white patterned snowflakes. Frode’s hair crackled with static when his thermal undershirt followed. Terje ran his hand through it with a laugh while Frode tore open the snap fasteners on Terje's flannel shirt. Terje started towards the bedroom with a hand around Frode's wrist, but Frode stopped him.

'It's cold in there. I left the window open.'

He led Terje through the hall and closed the curtains in the living room. Strider lay curled up in front of the slow burning fire in the hearth, and slunk away offended when Frode pushed him off the couch.

Undressing each other devolved into something of an uncoordinated wrestling match that ended with Frode straddling Terje, one foot still tangled in his jeans and underwear as Terje made him ride his cock like he'd been aching to all week. 

A long time passed before either of them felt like talking after Frode collapsed on top of him. Though the couch was too small to fit both of them comfortably and Frode's weight was heavy on his chest, Terje didn't want to be the one to break the contact. He scratched at imperfections on Frode’s back until Frode began to softly snore.

'I take it work was rough, then?'

The snoring stopped abruptly. 'What?'

'Rough week?'

'Hm. Just need to get used to it,' Frode said vaguely.

Terje offered to leave so he could sleep, but Frode insisted it wasn't that late. Once they got dressed again, Frode told him anecdotes about the school and the kids in his classes, lounging with his head on Terje's thigh.

The time on the DVD player under the TV crept past ten. Terje fantasised about spending the night at Frode's place as he played with his hair.

'You think we could have a sleepover here sometime?' he asked Frode.

'Doesn't that farm disqualify you from ever leaving for longer than a couple of hours?'

'Hmm. Maybe I'll send Kat and Asbjørn away so you can come stay with me.'  

'Sounds like a recipe for disaster.'

'It's a risk.'

'Why do you lie about it?' Frode didn't look at him, asking that question.

'I don't want to deal with the questions, or people talking about me. I don't want it to have a negative effect on my kids. I don't want Mia to think our marriage was a puppet show from beginning to end. That I used her.'

'So did you use her, or not?'

Terje hesitated 'I don't know. The more I sleep with men again, the more I feel like maybe I did.'

'You cheat on her during your marriage?' Frode asked quietly.

‘Yeah.'

Frode nodded. When Terje didn't volunteer anything else, he casually asked: 'You sleeping with a lot of other men right now?’

'Only you. It’s been two years since that affair ended.'

'Okay.'

The glowing log in the fireplace spit and crackled in the silence.

'His name was Nils,' Terje said, speaking his name aloud for the first time in the presence of another person. 'He really saw me when no one else did. I swear I didn't want to be that kind of person. I just wanted to feel what that was like.'

'I understand.’ Frode's voice was quiet. ‘I know exactly what you mean.'

He probably thought about that damned ex of his.

Terje let go of the tension in his shoulders when Frode slipped fingers through his and kissed his hand.

'What do you want?' Frode asked. 'You know, in the long run.'

'I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm already too old for the things I used to want.' 

'That's a bullshit answer.'

'Well, you're not the only one who's had a rough couple of years. Maybe I just want some peace.'

 

*******

Frode warmed his hands on a mug of coffee after a patrol of the frozen school grounds. The weather had most of the students staying inside during the breaks, but you never knew if some of them got it into their heads to wreak havoc that day. Frode didn't mind the round outside, especially when he didn't encounter anyone. The temporary quiet was a blessing.  

Less whispers followed him through the hallways than last week now that the novelty wore off. He made his way to the auditorium, where students ate and sat around on chairs, tables and windowsills alike. There weren't any disturbances that he could see.

Out of the corner of his eye, he did notice a small group of students staring at him. The long haired boy from 2B was among them. Jonas looked away, seemingly embarrassed they'd drawn Frode’s attention. Frode shot the other kids a smile, and circled the auditorium with his coffee. By the time he finished his mug, one of the staring students followed him into the hallway.

'Are you the new maths teacher?'

'I am. Can I help you?'

A boy with dark hair pushed his glasses higher up his nose and peered up at Frode. His sass wavered when he hesitated. 'They say you're gay.'

Frode arched an eyebrow at him. 'Probably because I said I was seeing a guy.'

The boy let out the breath he held. 'Oh! Okay.'

Frode studied him. He didn't have a well-developed sense for these things, but suspected the kid might be on the spectrum. It would explain his total lack of hilarity or derision at the subject.

'What's your name?' Frode asked conversationally.

'Eirik.'

The bell signalled the end of the break.

'Nice meeting you, Eirik. I need to get going.'

Eirik darted back into the auditorium, to his friends. Frode heard them titter in quiet voices. _What did he say? Oh my god, Eirik, that was so cheeky!_ He didn't hear Eirik’s reply when he left.

Being known as the gay teacher saddled him with a whole new responsibility, Frode noticed over the course of the weeks; a responsibility he wasn't sure he could live up to. He wasn't a role model of any sort. He could be a responsible and trustworthy teacher during the hours of his contract, but as a private person, particularly a queer man, he had very little wisdom to share.

Clueless about these things, students began coming up to him outside of lessons to chat. They wanted to be reassured, he supposed, to know that there was a life out there for them as adults. For their sakes, he put a positive spin on the answers he had to give them. Yes, he'd had a successful academic career. The job he left behind had been prestigious and fulfilling. Yes, he liked teaching, too. He'd seriously dated two great people in the past. It was okay that it didn't work out. He was seeing someone again. No, he couldn't tell them who.

'Can't you even tell us his name?' Jonas' friend Solveig asked during the Friday lunch break. 'Or what he does?'

Frode shook his head. 'He's not out.'

Some of the students sagely nodded.

A sensationalist look crossed Eirik's face. 'Is he very young or something?'

'No, couple years older than me.' At their expectant gazes Frode said: 'He works with animals. Cows and horses.'

'Is he a vet?'

Frode shrugged. 'Maybe.'

He used some rudimentary social engineering to get them talking about themselves again and silently thanked Jens for being so subtly manipulative and generous with his knowledge.

They were nosy but good kids, and it gave Frode somewhat of a platform to bounce the ideas off that he'd been stewing on to improve the mental health facilities at the school. The more these kids came to him to entrust him with their struggles, the more he felt like he needed to do something more tangible for them.

By the beginning of the second week after his probation period ended, he was ready to run a trial of his system in class that would ideally lower stress levels among students by offering the right kind of attention when they faltered.

2B was a likely candidate for a small-scale experiment. On Monday morning, he set five fox figurines on his desk.

'The rules are as follows,’ Frode told them. ‘Imagine you're dealing with some shit. School's not happening, and the idea of me calling on you to show your homework or answer a question in class is just too much on top of it.'

The students looked interested and listened quietly.

'You take one of the foxes, and I won't bother you. What's more, I'll make sure the other students don't bother you either.'

Frode saw some mischievous grins spread at his apparent naive goodwill.

'Here's the catch: take one more than twice a semester, and I'll worry about you. Which means I'll set you up with someone to talk about what's wrong. Like a school counsellor. And I’ll make sure you go there. Questions?'

'So if we just take one once or twice...?' A student asked.

'Then I hope it helps to give you some room to breathe.'

Some students exchanged glances.

'Does it have to be one of the counsellors?'

'I suppose you could come talk to me. That goes without saying, really. But you know I'm very hard to bullshit. This is meant to benefit your wellbeing, not set you back in class, so choose wisely.'

The class murmured quietly amongst themselves. Eighty percent of them had their books out by the time Frode finished writing an exercise on the blackboard.

'Chapter six. I've decided this chapter will also be on the test, because I'm confident you can do it.'

The word _test_ prompted the rest of the students to scramble for their books.

That evening, when Frode came home from a frostbitten walk with Strider, his mother spontaneously rang.

'How's it going with the job, darling? Are you managing?'

'It's intense,' Frode admitted, 'but I'm positive I'll find my place there eventually.'

'Good to hear.'

'How are you, mum?'

'I’m happy to see you landing on your feet and Espen doing so well. Who would've thought, two years ago?'

'It's been a long time coming. Hey, were you and Kristin going away this weekend or the next?'

'This weekend, so you can probably expect Jens to try and pawn Marte off on you.'

'That'd be nice. I'll call him about it. 

'You do that, and tell him I said hi. I love you, darling.'

'I love you, mum.'

Frode hung up feeling a bit better about the course of his life. He was nowhere near where he had been at the height of his achievements, but he felt more connected at least, and that counted for something. 


	17. Chapter 17

 

As a farrier, frequent back pain was a fact of life, but whenever Terje seriously threw out his back, it was always doing something other than shoeing horses. This time it happened without warning, while mucking out Juventus' stable. Straightening up with a pitchfork in his hands, he felt something slip around the vertebrae of his lower back. The pain that followed was so intense that all he could do was lower himself to the cold stable floor and try to keep breathing. Juventus, who stood tied to the bars of his stable in the aisle, shifted, big hooves maybe two feet away from Terje's head.

Terje tried to roll himself on his back using his arms and not his legs, which seemed to hurt the least. It took him three tries to muster the courage to move through the pain. Once on his back on the dusty concrete, he took stock of his body. There was no loss of feeling anywhere, just excruciating pain whenever he tried to move. Terje extracted his phone from his pocket, and shot Kat a plea for help.

'What on earth are you doing on the floor?' Kat said shrilly when she entered the barn. 'Is it your back? I told you you needed to be more careful! What if you've got a slipped disk or something? I'm calling a doctor.'  

'Just give me a minute and I'll get up,' Terje grated out. 'Could you put Juventus back in his stable before he steps on me?'

Kat pushed the wheelbarrow aside and coaxed Juventus past Terje, who slowly pushed himself up on hands and knees to avoid the fuss of involving a doctor.

'I think you're underestimating how serious this is, Terje.'

'I'll go see a doctor if it's not better in the morning. Can you give me a hand?'

He couldn't help swearing in pain when he pulled himself to his feet with Kat's help.

'Can you walk?' she asked, holding on to his hand tightly.

Terje set one foot in front of the other, every muscle in his back radiating pain outward. He shuffled like his great-grandfather had, the one that lived to be ninety-seven, all the way back to the house. Kat installed him on the couch with painkillers and water in reach.

'By the way, 452 is showing signs of early labour.'

Terje tried to sit up. ‘Already?'

'I thought the tail head looked sunken, and I saw her kick at her belly a couple times when I was there.'

Terje considered it. 452 was a heifer, and he had no idea whether she was going to need assistance. This was a terrible time for a complicated birth. He'd let Asbjørn take his girl on a three-day city trip because he didn't expect any calves yet. 

'Check again for me, please.'

Kat came back after ten minutes, reporting clear liquid dribbling down the heifer's hind legs.

'Any visible contractions?'

'No.'

'I'll check again in an hour or two. Good thing you spotted it.'

They watched TV together until eleven. Terje felt tired, as much from silently bearing the back pain that the ibuprofen barely numbed as from the day's work. But even so, he didn’t know if the pain would allow him to sleep. Kat supported him when he pushed himself up from the couch, clenching his jaw against the pain. Perhaps walking would help, he told himself, but the muscles of his back locked so tightly he could only hunch.

Kat slid one of the doors open enough for them to pass inside when they reached the barn. Terje spotted the heifer immediately, a ways away from the other pregnant cows. She sat down on her hind legs when a visible contraction passed over her abdomen.

'Fuck,' Terje said. He looked at his watch and counted the time until the next contraction. It took over seven minutes. ‘This could still take all night, but separate her from the others to be sure.'

Terje examined the heifer as best he could, strengthening his conviction that she might be in labour for hours yet before something happened. 

'I'm going to try and sleep,' he told Kat. 'You should, too. I'll wake you if anything goes down.'

With Kat's help, he settled in on the couch so he wouldn’t have to deal with the stairs.

Kat brushed his hair back from his face. 'Don't go doing anything stupid on your own. I'm right here and in a better state than you.'

Terje had two very fitful bouts of sleep between twelve and half past two in the morning. The second time he woke, he was in agony. He rolled off the couch to do some half-remembered stretching exercises from a previous back injury on the floor. Arching his back and hanging his head, he picked up on distressed mooing outside. He swallowed down some more painkillers and got up, supporting himself on furniture on his way to the stairs.

'Kat!'

She came quickly, dressed in her barn clothes, and accompanied him outside. In the barn, the heifer was straining, lying on her side in the straw with her flanks heaving. Terje squatted down with difficulty to check under her tail. She lost the water bag a while ago and feet stuck out her vulva, but there was no more movement however hard she pushed. He rolled up his sleeve to wash and lubricate his arm, and eased his hand into the birth canal to feel the progression of the birth. There was a head stuck in the birth canal, neatly positioned atop the feet. A pulse fluttered under his fingers.

'It's a big calf. Probably a bull. She's going to need some help.'

Terje crawled over to the stone wall and cursed his body's betrayal at such a time. He racked his brain about people he could call to help him pull the damn calf out. His father had the know-how but no longer the strength. Lars was in dubious health since his run-in with cancer, and Terje didn't want to wake him at this hour. The vet was a woman even smaller than Kat. She could use the calving jack, but it might be stressful for the heifer and could rack up an unnecessary bill. 

He sought Kat's eyes.

'Call Frode,' she said. 

Frode appeared more quickly than Terje dared to hope, though the wait was agonising for both him and the heifer. Frode put on Terje's overall and rubber boots and scrubbed his hands like Terje instructed while Kat got the heifer up.

'You need to be gentle and work with her,' Terje tried to explain. 'Pull when she strains, steadily but not too hard. She's in pain, and the lining of the uterus and birth canal are fragile and get damaged easily.'

Frode nodded while Kat scrubbed the heifer's tail and external genitalia with water and soap. The poor animal shied away from the touch.

'You've got to be quick,' Terje continued. 'Once the umbilical cord gets pinched the calf is going to start breathing, and he'd better be breathing air by then.'

'Right,' said Frode, attentive and calm.

It reassured Terje a little. Frode could do this. He had sense, and understood animals. They watched as Kat put the ropes around the calf’s feet. Frode took the grips. 

The heifer groaned and strained.

'Now,' Terje commanded. 'Pull. Pull!'

Gradually, more of the legs appeared, but the head didn't come out when Terje expected it to. The heifer strained again, letting out a hopeless moo.

'Come on, Frode, pull!' Terje shouted. 'Pull, you fucking fairy! I thought you were a strong guy! Use those fucking muscles!'

'I'm trying to be careful!' Frode shouted back. 'It's stuck!'

Terje cursed at him in his impatience, and scrabbled up, gritting his teeth. He leaned heavily on the heifer's hindquarters to keep himself somewhat upright, and used his hand to loosen the walls of the birth canal around the calf's head and open the vulva up while Frode braced himself and pulled it further out. The muzzle with a long pink tongue sticking out appeared on top of the front legs.

'That's it,’ Terje said when the head finally popped out. ‘Go on, just the shoulders now... Put your back into it!'

Frode used his weight as leverage when the heifer pushed with a low groan. The calf’s shoulders finally came free. Frode scrambled to guide the slippery calf to the ground. It landed in the straw with a thud and a splash of bloody amniotic fluid.

Kat poured water on the calf's head and cleaned out the airways. The calf lifted its head weakly under her touch.

'What is it?' Terje asked.

'A bull, like you said.' Kat looked at him. 'Go inside, Terje, you're done here.'

Terje took a couple of steps and clutched the railing of the left enclosure, where curious cows milled and snuffled. He looked back over his shoulder. Frode stroked the heifer's heaving flanks as if to comfort her.

'Good job, you guys,' Terje said belatedly.

Frode caught up with him at the end of the aisle and exchanged the wet boots and dirty overall for his hiking shoes and parka. Terje said nothing when Frode helped him back to the farm house and inside, though he was glad for the hand on the small of his back. 

'What’s wrong with your back?' Frode asked in the scullery.

'No idea. Could you take my boots off?'

Frode propped him against the laundry machine and knelt. 'Did you say your nephew gets back tomorrow evening? Shall I stay until then to help milk and stuff?'

Terje wanted nothing more, but he didn't know what was wise.

'I don't mind sleeping on the couch or anything,' Frode offered.

He stood up, so close and familiar that Terje couldn't help but lean in to kiss him in gratitude. Their lips barely touched when the door opened.

‘Terje…?’ Kat began.

Reacting on his instant panic, Terje forcefully pushed Frode away and followed it up with a punch that bruised his knuckles upon impact with Frode's face.

'What the hell, Frode?’ he shouted. ‘Don't pull that gay shit on me!'

Frode stood stunned, skin reddening where Terje's fist connected, and for a split second Terje feared Frode would refuse to play his game. That he'd gone too far.

'Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking,' Frode said quietly. He backed away, and brushed past Kat on his way out.

Kat covered her mouth with her hand. Terje saw her eyes widen when the door fell shut. She let out a single, high-pitched giggle. 'Oh my god.'

'What the fuck,' Terje said weakly. He shook out the hand he punched Frode with.  

'I told you he'd want more than to be your friend.'

'I think I cured him of it.'

Kat prodded him in the chest with a finger. 'You need to apologise. You could've been nicer about it.'

He did apologise. He sent Frode a text when he lay alone on the couch in the dark living room and Kat had gone back to bed.

_I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. Forgive me. ~ Terje_

Terje could see Frode read the message. He sat waiting on a reply with his phone in hand for a long time.

 

*******

When routine woke Terje up despite having slept perhaps an hour and a half, he couldn't move from the pain. He could hear Kat moving around and talking upstairs, but it took a small eternity before she came down.

'Kat,' Terje said between gritted teeth. 'I'm fucked. I can't move and the cows need to be milked –'

Kat pushed him back down on the sofa. 'I took care of it. Your father and Lars are coming to help milk.  Elise is taking you to the hospital.'

Terje let his head fall back against the arm rest. 'Thank you so much.'

Lars came to check on Terje briefly before getting to work. He walked into the living room with his coat still on but his boots off, and squatted near the couch.

'It's been a long time since I was up this early on a Sunday. Probably not since Asbjørn learned to turn on the TV by himself.'

'Sorry about that,' Terje said.

'Don't worry. I'm glad I can help.'

'Save it until after you spent some time with dad in there.'

Lars shot Terje a wry grin. 'I guess I'm in for a treat.' 

When Lars stepped outside, Terje checked his last message to Frode. It was marked as read like the others, but there was still no reply. He had to stuff his phone out of sight when Kat walked up with water and painkillers. Elise showed up not much later, having already checked up on his horses, so he had no more time to think of anything to say to Frode.

'Terje, hey, are you hanging in there?' Elise asked. Kneeling by his side, she took his face in her hands. 'You look terrible. Can you sit up?'

He tried, he really did. With Elise's help, he finally managed.

'My back is so cramped that I can’t really control my muscles,' Terje said after releasing a shaky breath. 'Give me a second.'

'I'll drive the Range up to the front door and help you get in, okay?'

Crossing the flagstone floor of the hall seemed to take ages. Elise had to hold him up by the elbow as if he were some infirm elderly person, but Terje was glad they managed that much. He was fairly sure Kat covertly threatened to have him picked up by an ambulance if he didn't get up off the couch soon.

The Emergency Room was less full than Terje would have expected early on Sunday morning. A handful of people varying from genuinely sick to fucked up from drunk accidents sat waiting around.

Elise squeezed his shoulder when he sat down heavily on a white plastic seat. 'I'm going to park the car. I'll be right back.'

'I'll manage from here,' Terje protested. 'Once the doctors fix me up I'll be fine. You don't need to spend half the day sitting here.'

Elise shook her head, and disappeared. When she returned, she took the seat directly next to him, and leaned in to quietly talk.

'I want you to know this runs both ways. When I was injured, it felt good to know that even though you were extremely busy, you made time for me and helped out where you could.'

'I know you're a good girl, but this is just a waste of your time. Who knows how long I'm going to be sitting here?'

'Exactly. I don't want you to sit here all alone and hurting.' Elise gently rubbed his back. 'Are you hungry?'

'I can't really feel it over the back pain, but probably.'

'I'll go get us something.'

They sat eating and drinking coffee in silence for a while. Terje tried to keep it cool through his discomfort, but it was getting harder every minute. Elise got up to talk to a passing nurse. It didn't take long before Terje could stretch out on an exam table, after that.

'Thanks.' Terje took Elise's hand when they were left alone, and gave it a gentle squeeze. 'It means a lot that you're looking after me like this.'

Elise shot him a mischievous grin. 'If we're both still alone in five years, we should get hitched.'

'What makes you say that?' Terje said slowly, censoring himself. Sometimes it was easy to forget no one knew he wasn't single.  

'Would be convenient.'

Terje laughed, and stopped immediately because it hurt. 'Mia thought I'd be marrying Kat for the same reason, and I suspect Kat did, too.'

'I'm richer than Kat,' Elise said, still grinning.

'Sure, if we're both still single in five years I'll give up the farm and marry you for your money.'

'You'd have to dress a bit better as my trophy husband.'

'I hope you still don't want any children, because I've had a vasectomy.'

Joking around with Elise made him forget about the passing of time for a while. An attending came in, and sent him straight to radiology on suspicion of a herniated disk after Terje told him what he did for a living. The prospect made Terje want to cry as much as the pain, but Hansen boys learned not to early in life. Thankfully, there was nothing to see than the expected wear on the x-ray of his lower back when the radiologist examined it. The attending sent him on his way with muscle relaxers and heavy duty painkillers.

'I'm relieved,' Elise said when they drove back to the farm. 'Imagine what a hassle it would have been if you would've had to have surgery.'

'I don't even want to think about that.'

'You need to train your core a bit better to spare your back. I heard ballet helps.'

'I hope you're not serious.'

'I talked to a female farrier in Denmark who swore by it.'

Terje scoffed. 'Speaking of ballet, how's that cousin of yours doing?'

'Nils and I haven't spoken in a long time. Both a bit too self-absorbed.' Elise laughed. 'But I heard he might be coming home for Christmas.'

It was lunch time when Elise dropped him off at the farm. Terje's father was still there, and his mother showed up as well. Shuffling to the kitchen, Terje lowered himself into a chair opposite his parents with care. His mother ruffled his hair and kissed it as she set a plate in front of him, sending a pang of regret through Terje. This rare support and affection his parents showed him was meant for someone that didn't exist. Knowing that the real Terje wasn't worthy of their love made him feel so hollow.

'I tried asking your maid earlier,' his father began, 'but I don't think she understood what I meant. Who delivered that calf if you were in such pain?'

Terje suppressed a smile, relieved that Kat remembered to his wish to never divulge anything about his personal life to his parents. She thought it was amusing to evade questions by pretending she only spoke Polish and broken Norwegian in front of them and watch them struggle.

'Kat and I did. It wasn't a difficult birth.'

The scullery door opened to admit Lars, who took a seat next to Terje. Nora followed him into the kitchen and brushed past Terje for a pat before lying down at his feet.

'Your new pup is great,' Lars commented. 'So smart and obedient.'

'I didn't think that one would turn out the way she did,' their father muttered.

‘I’m not that incompetent,' Terje said in the mildest tone he could manage.

As he said it, a feeling of hopelessness swallowed him whole. He was incompetent, and a horrible person to boot. Frode had raised that dog for him. Frode had delivered that calf. And all Terje did was repay him with insults and violence. 


	18. Chapter 18

 

The students always waited to ask Frode impertinent questions until they had the attention of the whole class, it seemed.   

'What happened to your face?'

It was usually the same two girls that spoke the class' collective mind in 2B. Frode was aware he'd have to explain the black eye Terje had given him as a parting gift on Saturday night, but all stories he fabricated in his mind in advance rang hollow now.

Some twenty-five pairs of eyes peered up at him, more interested than he’d ever seen them about anything he had to say. 

'That's a funny story, actually...' Frode said to buy himself more time to think. 'I got a call to help assist with the birth of a calf on Saturday night from an old neighbour who has a farm. It was pretty gory and no one got out of it unscathed.' 

'You got kicked in the face by a cow?'

Frode shrugged with a self-conscious grin, and let them make of it what they would. The students snickered, leaning in to talk amongst themselves.

Frode taught the double hour, grinding on the concept of exponential functions until he had hope that every last student got it. He spent the hour before the first break catching up on assignments he'd given 1C. As he pored over a barely legible handwritten answer, someone entered his classroom.

'Hi Jonas.'

'Can I do my homework in here?'

Frode glanced around. There were some rules about how teachers should conduct themselves in one on one contact he didn’t quite recall.

'Sure. Leave the door open.'

Jonas sat at the table opposite Frode's desk and got out his maths book again. There was something strange about him today. His face looked different, although it was impossible to pinpoint what caused that difference.

They worked in silence for a while. Frode drank his own coffee from a thermos, something he preferred over walking across the building to get shitty coffee from the machine in the teacher's lounge. When he bent to put the thing back in his backpack on the floor, Jonas spoke up.

'Does he hit you?'

Frode pushed himself slowly upright in his chair.

'Why would you say that?'

Jonas' eyes darted between the door and Frode's face. 'Because... you said he worked with cows. And cows don't kick seven feet in the air.'

'I'm not seven feet. There was a lot of squatting involved.'

'You look sad.'

Frode felt his face fall against his will. 'I should be angry.'  

'Has it happened before?'

'Not with him.'

Daniel hit Frode, too, on multiple occasions. He'd deserved that. He probably deserved this, too, for being violent towards his brothers all those years.

'You broke up with him, right?' Jonas said uncertainly.

'Yeah, I left. Don't ever let anyone treat you like that,' Frode told him out of a sense of duty. 'Don't make excuses for people who hurt you.'

Jonas seemed to steel himself, and gave a tight nod. 

The exchange made Frode more hesitant about the way to reply when Terje texted him again that night.

_You know it wasn't personal, right? I panicked. I shouldn't have hit you. I'm so sorry._

Not personal, Frode thought when he had to look in the mirror brushing his teeth before bed. That was an interesting way to put it to someone with bruising spreading throughout their entire eye socket.

He didn't know what to do. On one hand he wanted to be the man his students thought he was. Someone who didn't take shit and had principles. On the other, it was only one punch, and Terje was all he had. 

_I can see you’re reading this. Talk to me._

Frode put his phone on silent, and went to sleep.

Terje had the sense not to disturb him when he was at work, though Frode doubted Terje was working himself, from the state of his back on Saturday. He almost slipped up and reached out to Terje in the afternoon to ask if he knew what was wrong yet, if his back was getting better at all. He missed talking on a daily basis. That evening, Terje texted again.

_Frode, please. I'm sorry I put you through that. It must've been painful and humiliating and I really regret making you feel that way._

As apologies went, it sounded like a sincere one. Frode finally felt like it warranted a response. _I could make excuses for you, Terje, that's not the issue. But I don't know if I want to._

Terje typed for a long time, as if he was writing an entire epistle or couldn't make up his mind. _What do you want me to do? I don't want anything to change between us._

Frode got what Terje meant, but it was stupidly worded, and it wasn't enough. He dropped the conversation.

_I swear it'll never happen again_ , Terje wrote on Wednesday. _Don't give up on me yet._

 

*******

'What's up with dad?' Terje heard Emma ask in a bored voice from the living room.

Kat rustled with the colouring book she was working on with the kids. She spoke very clearly so Terje would be sure to hear her in the kitchen. 'Your dad's been very mean to his friend and now he's sad they're not friends anymore.'

'I don't believe it,' Jakob protested. His felt tipped colouring pen squeaked on paper. 'Dad isn't mean.'

There was a beat of silence before Emma spoke again. 'What happened?'

'Frode tried to kiss him, so your dad punched him in the face.'

‘Gross,’ said Jakob. ‘That’s gay.’

Emma was silent for a beat. 'A boy from my class tried to snog me behind the coat rack after I said I didn’t want to. I hoofed him in the nuts.'

'Good for you,' Kat said approvingly. 'Boys don't always listen when girls say no. But I think Frode would have listened to your dad. He was a good friend before he did that. He always helps out with stuff.'

'Yeah, _because_ he wants to snog dad.'

Kat sighed. 'Maybe.'

In the kitchen, Terje pressed his palms into his eye sockets in frustration. Frode still hadn't replied to his latest plea, and he had every right not to. However Terje tried to twist it, the significance of that one punch went beyond keeping up appearances that he wasn't gay. Frode would have recognised it for what it was.

Unlocking his phone, Terje stared at their neglected conversation. He hit his partner, and that made it domestic abuse. _I swear it'll never happen again._ Wasn't that the exact type of thing abusive people said to manipulate their victims into staying?

Socks on tile made him stuff his phone out of sight. Jakob wound arms around Terje's neck and rested his chin on his head.

'When will you stop being sad, dad?'

'Right now. I’ll stop it.’

'Mum usually makes me go over and apologise when I've been mean to someone. Have you tried that?'

'No. I'm ashamed of myself,' Terje confessed with his chin on Jakob's shoulder.

'For heaven's sake, Terje, just go do it,' Kat said, walking into the kitchen to empty tepid tea from the pot. 'You can be back before lunch.'

Leaning against the doorframe of his cabin, Frode blocked the way inside when he answered Terje’s knocking. A yellowing bruise faded into the corner of his left eye. Frode's wordless, icy stare made Terje feel very insignificant and very stupid.

'I'm sorry,' he said quietly. 'Give me another chance.'

'How's your back?'

'A bit better.'

'Good.' Frode uncrossed his arms to allow him near.

Terje approached him in a daze. His body ached for Frode's touch, his heart for the reassurance they could get past this somehow. He reached out to lay a hand on the back of Frode's neck, and felt the fine red hairs at the nape under his fingers. Frode lowered his eyes and laid a hand flat against Terje's chest, as if still indecisive. Terje leaned in, and though he felt the warmth of Frode’s face radiate against his skin, he found that he couldn't get close enough to kiss him. Frode's fist tightened on the material of his coat. He pushed Terje an arm’s length back into the trajectory of the open-handed blow he delivered. When Frode's hand connected with his face, the force of it sent Terje staggering sideways.

Terje gasped for breath and clutched the hand gripping his coat to keep a precarious balance on the slippery porch. Pain blossomed on the left side of his jaw.

'We're even,' Frode said, releasing him.

'Alright,' Terje said, panting in shock. 'Yeah.'

Frode turned his back and walked inside. He sat down at his dinner table strewn with grading work, and picked up a red pen.

'Frode...' Terje laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him before he could reposition his chair.

'You're not getting anything else from me today.'

'Please.' Terje combed Frode's hair back with his fingers, caressing the planes of his forehead and cheekbones. He tilted Frode's face up by the jaw and pressed lips onto his scarred mouth, soft and slack, but framed with sharp stubble. Terje's back made it difficult to maintain the bent over position any length of time, but he couldn't let go. He lifted a leg over Frode's and lowered himself into his lap, scooting closer until Frode’s abdomen pressed against his every time they breathed in. Frode held him loosely by the hips and accepted his kisses like an offering, barely kissing back.

Terje envied his composure. He couldn't get enough air somehow. His face tingled and his breath came in gasps as he struggled not to break the kiss.

Frode pulled back to roughly wipe the tears off Terje's face with his thumbs.

'You idiot,' he muttered, pulling Terje close again, not for a kiss but a tight hug.

'I don't know why this is so hard,’ Terje wept. ‘Why I made it so damn complicated…'

'It's not complicated,' Frode said. 'I get that you don't want to be out. All I'm asking is that you treat me with the same respect as everyone else in your life. Then you can keep coming here, and I'll give you the peace you need, if I can.'

Terje pressed the side of his face against Frode's, and whispered a silent thanks.

 

*******

Jonas wasn't the first student to take a fox, but somehow Frode had been expecting it from him. He initially paid it little heed except to jot down a mark behind Jonas' name in his ledger,  like he had with the previous student on Wednesday. His head wasn't in the game. Whenever he wasn't actively lecturing the students, his mind kept wandering back to Terje. The glimpse he had gotten of what lay beneath Terje's callous exterior reflected eerie similarities back at him. Ugly, painful loneliness and frightening vulnerability. 

Frode was still thinking about what he could do to prevent Terje taking his inner conflict out on him next time when the students packed up at the sound of the bell. All but one.

Jonas turned the fox over in his hands and stared out of the window. Frode took out some grading he knew he was going to procrastinate on at home, and worked for a while. It was pitch black out when he finished.

'Don't want to go home?' Frode asked Jonas.

Jonas shrugged. 'I kind of do, but...'

'Anything I could do to help?' Frode asked, feeling a small spike of worry. 'Need to talk to someone?'

He watched Jonas shake his head across the classroom as he scribbled a last, barely sufficient mark and an encouragement on the paper in front of him.

Jonas picked up his bag with a sigh when Frode packed up. 'I'd better head home before my mum gets worried.'

Frode wished him a good evening and grabbed his coat from the teacher's lounge on the way to his car.

On Friday, Jonas took a fox off Frode's desk again, and clung to it the entire hour. It distracted Frode, who couldn't help but wonder what was up with him. When the bell eventually rang, neither Jonas nor his friend Solveig got up. She seemed worried as well, but Jonas looked like he could do without her gaze on him. Frode asked her to leave.

'Feel like talking yet?' he tried when the room was empty save for the two of them.

'I'm not sure you'd understand. No offense, but you're so... black and white. Principled.'

Frode laughed quietly. 'Only when I'm trying to teach a lesson. That makes it easier to get a message across.'

Jonas fell into a silence.

'I forgave him,' Frode said. 'We're together again. That's how principled I really am.'

Jonas searched his face with a grave expression. It took him a while to muster the courage to speak. 'I had a difficult talk with my family the other day. About that I'm not a boy, and that I want people to stop seeing and treating me as one.'

At that, Frode looked at him properly for the first time. The way he wore his hair, the cut of his clothes. The unusually expressive mannerisms that Frode had mistaken for something else.

'Oh!' Frode floundered for a second, caught by surprise. 'Well... there's a lot they can do about that now, isn't there?’

Jonas grimaced. ‘Not quite enough if you ask me.’

‘How did your parents react?'

'They're scared and upset. And I'm scared, too. And sad. That it couldn't have been any other way. Why I'm not- That my sister gets to grow up as a girl but I have to go this way.'

'That sounds like a really rough deal,’ Frode tried. ‘Has it been bothering you long?'

'Couple years. It took me a while to figure out what was wrong. Then I picked up a magazine of my mum's with an article about trans kids in it, and everything fell into place.'

'Is it something that limits you in daily life? Mentally, I mean.'

'It takes up a lot of headspace. It makes me pretty anxious every time I'm around other people. I'm always trying to maximise my... _passability_ even though I know it's a hopeless case.'

'Hopeless?'

'Until I can start hormones I'm stuck like this. If I even make it to that point.'

'What would that depend on? Whether you make it or not?' Frode leaned in across the desk as if getting physically closer would help him get closer to defusing a potentially disastrous situation.

'If something or someone doesn't kill me first.'

Frode nodded slowly. He wasn’t very well-informed on the subject, but it rang true. Femininity inspired aggression in bigots, sometimes more so if males displayed it. The depiction of transgender women in media featured them meeting violent ends more often than not.

'Listen,’ Frode said, searching for something meaningful or encouraging to say. ‘Even if at some point in the future surviving is the only thing you can do, remember that it's enough to look after your own safety and needs first. Remember you're more than your body or your sexual preference. You're also a kid and a sibling and a friend and all that stuff that makes living worth it.'

'Okay,' Jonas said quietly.

Frode held Jonas’ gaze. 'You're going to be under a lot of scrutiny, probably, but don't let anyone forget you're only human. Not even yourself. At your age, especially, you can't be expected to carry the weight of everyone's judgement and always be a step ahead.'

When Jonas teared up, Frode swallowed around a lump in his throat at the thought of the struggle that lay ahead for this kid.

'And know that you can always come to me for help or to talk.'

'Okay.'

'What about that not treating you like a boy, huh?' Frode asked eventually. 'Is there something you'd rather be called than Jonas?'

'I don't want to come out at school yet. Not before I figure things out with my family.'

'Keep me in the loop, then. And let me know what you need so I can make things easier here at school when the time comes.'

Frode went home still thinking about that conversation at the end of the day. On Jonas' behalf he felt deeply troubled, but on the flip side, he was honoured that Jonas trusted him enough to confide in him. A fierce protectiveness bounced around in his skull. He wished he could do more to erase the injustice his student was going to face.

'How do you avoid taking students' issues home with you?' Frode asked Jens on the phone while warming up some dinner in the microwave at home. 'The really bad stuff.'

'We all like to pretend work is something separate,’ Jens said. ‘But... it's not. You can't. Welcome to giving a damn.'


	19. Chapter 19

 

The first Monday of the Christmas break, Frode got out of bed in the dark feeling a little lost. He'd gotten used to the routine of teaching every week day, and though rationally he knew he could do with the rest and the time to prepare for the next semester, the empty feeling stuck with him throughout the morning. When he mentioned as much to Terje over text message, it didn't take long for pounding on his door to startle him from the book he'd picked up.

Terje dangled a pair of ice skates in Frode's face when he opened up, grinning his rascally grin, his sandy curls poking out from underneath a dusty hat.

'You weren't serious about missing work already, were you?' he asked, pushing past Frode into the hall of the cabin.

Frode eyed the skates. 'I guess it all depends on my alternatives.'

Terje kicked off his boots and set a worn backpack next to the boot rack.

'I figured the ice on the lake is thick enough for us to have some fun. Since you said you like skating.'

'Yeah, I do. I've been trying to get Jens to go with me last weekend, but no luck.'

Terje followed him into the bedroom, where Frode dug through his closet for his skates and something appropriate to wear in the minus five degrees weather.

'Jens will have to wait his turn.'

'He's too busy these days, anyway. When I see him it's usually because he needs a babysitter.'

'You know, I can't picture him as an adult,' Terje said, leaning against the door of the closet. He idly rifled through Frode's clothes and held a jumper up to gauge if it would fit him. 'Would be funny to meet him some time.'

'He hasn't changed much, except grow really tall.' Frode shot Terje a sideways glance. 'How's life treated your siblings?'

'Not great, for the most part.' Terje's voice dropped. 'Silje's okay, happily married with two great daughters, but Lars has been very ill a couple years back, and we haven't seen Anita since she turned eighteen and ran away.'

'What happened?'

'Our parents were rather old-fashioned, and big fans of tough love. Sometimes I envy her for getting out. I hope she's happy, wherever she is.'

‘You’re the youngest sibling, right?'

Terje sat on the edge of the bed to watch Frode change. 'Yeah, Silje is a little older than me as well. Did you know Anita used to mind you and Jens when your parents went out?'

Frode sat down next to Terje to change his socks. 'She did? I guess that makes sense. Did you ever try finding her?'

'I did.' Terje let out a laugh that had a hopeless edge to it. 'But Hansen really is the most common name in Norway, and for all I know she might not even have kept it.'

'You miss her?'

'Sometimes. I know she isn't dead, but it kind of feels like I lost her for good.'

Frode briefly laid a hand on Terje's back in sympathy.

'I still haven’t forgiven them,' Terje muttered.

He must mean his parents, Frode assumed. 'Were they abusive towards all of you?'

Terje shrugged, pulling away from Frode's touch. Frode tried to catch his downcast gaze, but Terje stood up. 'Come on, man, I just wanted to do something fun with you today.'

Frode grabbed a bag for his skates from the closet and left it at that.

Terje drove them north of town, to a quiet spot along the banks of the lake. 

'I know what you're thinking,' he said when Frode got out and slung his backpack over his shoulder. 'My parents were abusive, so I must be, too.'

Frode considered it. 'The thing that actually went through my mind was that it explains something about why you don't want to come out.'

Terje frowned, looking away across the ice. 'Knowing that it's going to change every relationship you have for the worse has always been kind of a hurdle, yeah.'

Frost nipped at Frode's exposed face. The cold quickly seeped into his skin and chilled his legs as they sat on the bank to tie their skates. He pushed himself up and dusted off his pants.

Terje followed at a slower pace, shivering as he moved towards Frode.

'This was a terrible idea. It's damn cold.'

'Come here, I'll get you warm.' Frode held out his arms, and wrapped them around Terje when he approached with careful steps to avoid the fault lines in the ice.

Terje embraced him briefly after sending a shifty look over his shoulder to the deserted bank and the road beyond.

'Let's get moving,' Frode suggested. 

Terje pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek, then skated ahead. A surge of renewed excitement rushed through Frode like the cutting wind rushed past his face when he started after him. Even if their relationship existed mostly between the walls of his cabin, this was progress.

When they took the skates off their sore feet, reddened with the cold roughly two hours later, Terje nudged Frode.

'What are you doing on Christmas eve?' 

'I don't have any plans.'

'I'm sending the farm hands home for Christmas, and my kids aren't coming over till the evening of the twenty-fifth... I thought it would be cool if you came over for dinner and stayed the night.'

Frode considered the proposal in silence. 'Are you prepared to explain my presence to anyone who might find out without hitting me? I don't mind playing along, but there's a limit.'

'I promise,' Terje said, full of quiet remorse.

'Then I'd be happy to. Want me to bring something for dinner?'

'If you have any ideas about what you want to cook, maybe I can help you? Let me know what ingredients to stock up on.'

They spent the car ride back to Frode's house talking about nothing but food since they were all but starving after their tour on the ice, but Terje didn't stay for lunch.

'Did I make you forget about teaching?' Terje asked, walking Frode to his door.

'Thoroughly. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm looking forward to Christmas.'

*******

This year, the dark days before Christmas didn't bother Frode so much. The sky was gloomy and daylight brief, but the weather was just about perfect, with the right amount of snow. Below in the valley, warm lights burned all over town.

When Christmas eve came, he left his car in the driveway and walked to the nearest bus stop with Strider on a leash and an overnight bag in hand. Travelling through town and watching people in the brightly illuminated streets through the bus windows, he actually enjoyed the overly complicated commute he chose reduce the risk of compromising Terje. 

'Don't tell me you hiked all the way here!' Terje exclaimed when he met Frode at the gate and looked around for his car.

'No, I cheated,' Frode said, walking beside him up the path to the farm house. 'Is everyone gone?'

'Kat's at her mother's, and I just brought Asbjørn home. He was hard to get rid of after what happened the last time he went away.'

Terje let Frode in through the front door, and kissed him only when it fell firmly shut.

'I'll get started on dinner,' Frode said, patting Terje's face. 'I'm hungry.'

Terje trailed him into the kitchen. He seemed a little awkward out of his barn clothes, and stood around fidgeting until Frode told him to grab a knife and start cleaning vegetables. It helped to keep him busy, somewhat.

'When was the last time you had a smoke?' Frode joked, sparing a glance at Terje's unsteady hands.

'Three weeks ago. I figured I might as well quit since you don't like it.'

'You didn't have to go through all that trouble on my behalf.' 

Terje idly poked the tip of his knife in the cutting board. 'I read this article that addiction's more to do with being miserable than anything else. So I started to think about why I want to have a smoke when I do, and it's mostly to get out of a situation or because I'm stressed about something.' 

'Good for you,' Frode said. 'I'm proud of you.'

'Really?' Something of a grin broke through the tension on Terje's face.

'Nicotine's a pretty bad chemical hook.'

'I knew I could do it, because Mia made me stop ten years ago.'

'That explains why you're still so good-looking,' Frode said, laughing to himself. 'I thought you'd been smoking all your adult life.'

'Yeah, you have my ex-wife to thank for that.'

Terje seemed a bit more at ease after that conversation, or at least comfortable enough to confess: 'I feel so weird.'

'About what?'

'Having you here. Spending Christmas with a guy I really like in the house I grew up in.'

'How so?'

'I don't think I've ever been anything but worried and scared about that sort of stuff.'

'That must've been awful. Not being yourself even in your own house.'

'Yeah. But you know what it is? When I'm with you, I feel like the person I was before I made the choice to live my life as a straight man is waking from a strange dream. That when I'm with you, I become myself a bit more every time.'

Unsure what to say to that monumental confession, Frode simply smiled.

'So excuse me if I seem like an eighteen year-old on a first date. I guess this is me picking up where I left off.'

Frode nudged him with his elbow. 'I remember what it was like to be eighteen. We should probably have sex first and get it out of the way.' 

As soon as they got the food into the oven, Terje took him up on the offer right there in the kitchen.

'People prepare food here,' he murmured when Frode hoisted him onto the counter and pulled down his jeans and thermal underwear, but Frode ignored him and shut him up with kisses. 

Seeing Terje smile to himself as he scrubbed the counter top was worth the unceremonious blow-job, and the two of them made light work of cleaning the kitchen in time for the oven timer to go off. 

As they sat eating in comfortable silence, socked feet touching under the table, Frode felt a fierce, unexpected love for Terje creep up on him.

'How do you really feel about this? That I'm making you sneak around,' Terje clarified when Frode paused with a fork halfway to his mouth.

Frode set the fork down on his plate. 'I have no problem with it. It’s just, sometimes when we have all the family together at my mum's house I tend to think that it would be nice to have you there.'

'You want to introduce me to your mum?' Terje teased.

'Oh, my mum remembers you - I mentioned meeting you once, before we got involved. She said you used to be a very sweet, soft boy.' 

'I had my moments.' A pensive frown slid across Terje's face. 'My ma was pretty quick to bring up a list of reasons why I needed to stay away from you when I told her we met again. It obviously didn't deter me.'

'You like to live dangerously.'

Terje snorted, and shook his head. 

They got comfortable on the couch after dinner without turning on the TV to distract them. Frode pillowed his head on Terje's thighs, and closed his eyes to enjoy the hypnotic sensation of Terje running his fingers through his hair. On the verge of falling asleep, he heard Terje murmur something in the silence.

'You're not dangerous. I'm not afraid of you.'

 

*******

Terje never meant this night to be so pivotal to his relationship with Frode, or to the way he understood himself, but having Frode over in his ancestral home as his lover felt like committing an unforgivable crime. As if he could feel his parents' disapproving stare pricking the back of his neck.

Long repressed memories began to plague him as he ran his hand through ginger hair and Frode's breathing deepened. As a teenager under this roof, he'd lived in constant fear someone would find out he was letting his dad's farm hands bend him over. The paranoia of something or someone giving his secret away slowly suffocated him, but he was powerless against the need for physical affection. At that age he had no idea what love looked like. He couldn't relate to depictions of straight romance on TV, and his parents were cold and vindictive towards each other as well as their children. There was no one to tell him what was normal behaviour for a queer sixteen year old.

The anxiety of failing to match up his wants with social expectations overpowered him at times. He made plans to run away like Anita had more than once, only to discard them because he didn't feel brave enough.

One night, after hearing another news story about the aids-crisis ravaging the lives of gay men around the world, he'd gone to the barn and put the barrel of the rifle in his mouth. He couldn't say what would've happened if Jorn hadn't come after him and taken the rifle from him, but he likely wouldn't have been brave enough to see that through either.

'I don't want to end up like that,' Terje had confessed when Jorn held him in silent comfort.

'You don't need to,' Jorn told him. 'You're not sick yet.'

'I don't want to die of aids.'

'Then stop letting guys fuck you and marry a girl. It's as simple as that.'

Terje supposed he'd been lucky he mainly got fucked by straight men. The farm hands knew that Jakob Hansen would kill them if they touched his daughters, but Terje was just about pretty enough to make an exception in a place where their only other options were livestock. He never contracted anything more serious than the clap or a broken heart from any of them.

When he went back to school after that summer, he'd mostly forgotten about Jorn's advice, but some of it must have taken root in his mind. He started looking at his best friend Mia differently. Mia asked him to be her dance partner and they ended up taking classes together, which everyone knew was a fast track to dating. When she asked him out for the first time, it was almost a relief. Being around Mia had always been comfortable and fun, and with her he could have everything he wanted out of life. An emotional connection, a loving relationship, children. Imitating the exaggerated masculinity of his older brother, no one ever second-guessed him.

There was just the issue of sleeping with Mia. He had to make himself, and it wasn't always easy. Some days, when she was fertile and he was halfway to sleep, some rudimentary mechanism in his body would thankfully respond to that. Other times he had to abstain for days so his sexual frustration would help him focus on her. It seemed like a small sacrifice for his peace of mind at the time.     

He didn't realise he let out a heavy sigh until Frode opened his eyes and peered up at him. 'Still feeling weird?'

'I guess. I can't get over the fact that I never had the guts to do what's right for me before, but I don't know what I would've changed, either, if that means I wouldn't have my kids and everything.'

Frode nodded slowly. 'My shrink always tells me I need to be more in the present when I get mired in the past. Because we can't change that anyway, you know? Perhaps it's because everything happened the way it did that we're here together now. I can live with that.' 

'Yeah, perhaps,' Terje agreed absent-mindedly. 'I'd better do my last round.'

Frode went with him, unbothered by the snow and with a spring in his step despite almost falling asleep on the couch.

The animals sent them sleepy stares when Terje turned on minimal light to check on them. It was quiet, with everything as it should be. Latching the door to the horse barn, Terje turned towards Frode, whose eyes were dark under his pronounced brow bone.

'I wish it could be like this every night. You and me here together.'

Frode didn't push him to make any rash decisions. He simply said: 'Who knows?'

When Frode took off his coat and boots in the scullery, a jittery nervousness built in the pit of Terje's stomach. It would be the first time they'd spend the night together, and they’d sleep in his bed tonight. Walking up the stairs to the part of the house Frode had never even seen before, Terje felt self-conscious. His parents' old bedroom remained unchanged for decades except for the bedlinens and the clothes in the wardrobe, but something was going to change now.

A spark of rebellion pierced his unease. He was going to let Frode fuck him in the bed that had been his parents' long before it had been his and Mia's.

Frode picked up on his submissiveness like a bloodhound on a scent trail, but hesitated, surprised that Terje would give it up after refusing all this time.

The reason Terje never once bottomed since he stopped letting men fuck him was the memory of the pain as much as the fear and the paranoia. But Frode never spoke of pain, and he'd come so far in confronting his conflicted emotions today.

Frode tried to be gentle, easing Terje back into it with rusty skill, but Terje wanted something more than tenderness from him. He wanted Frode to immolate him and make him into something new, forged in fire, stronger. Once he voiced that wish, Frode didn’t hesitate to give him what he needed until the heat of their bodies moving together became almost too much.

'I love you,' Terje murmured, kissing Frode's salty skin where sweat beaded on his forehead. He knew you weren't supposed to after sex, but Frode wouldn't care for such conventions.

Frode's hand stopped tracing lazy patterns on his stomach for a beat. Terje waited for a reaction with his breath suspended.

There was a smile in Frode’s voice when he said: 'I love you, too.'

 

*******

When the alarm went off on his nightstand, Terje pressed snooze. The cows could wait five more minutes while he enjoyed the warmth of Frode's chest against his back.

Frode yawned. 'I haven't been awake this early since my last shift on the rig.'

'You can stay in bed if you prefer.'

'It's fine. I had a good night's sleep.'

They lay in silence another minute, toasty and comfortable in the dark. Frode tightened his arms around Terje.

After showing Frode where to get the cow fodder and how to distribute it, Terje went ahead with the milking. Frode seemed in his element, talking to the animals as he put his back into the work.

Once they were done with the necessary chores, Terje made breakfast while Frode gathered his things and set his bag on the front door mat, ready to go. When he turned around to put the plates of fried eggs and bread on the table, Frode sat in the spot where Mia used to sit, petting one of the cats that had snuck inside.

'No animals at the table,' Terje said in a fake stern voice. He studied Frode over breakfast, and wondered if Emma and Jakob would like him if they met him under the right circumstances.

Frode left with a seeming lack of reluctance, but there was plenty of that concentrating somewhere in Terje's gut. He embraced Frode for a long time, inhaling his scent to remember it. 'Thanks for coming over. Last night meant a lot.'

Frode held him tight for a second. 'Thanks for a Christmas worth remembering.'

Terje walked down the laneway with him to see him off. Frode had barely disappeared from view when Terje's phone rang, shrill and urgent in the cold morning air. He picked up with a foreboding feeling when he saw it was Elise.

'Terje, I need your help... There was a fire at the stables last night. How many horses can you put up?' Elise's voice sounded tired and shaky.

Terje hurried towards the barns, thinking aloud. 'I have five proper stables, but I can house ten of your horses if you're willing to risk putting a few together in pens with mine.'

'I just need them out of the snow as quickly as possible.'

Grabbing a pitchfork, Terje shook up a layer of fresh straw on the dusty concrete of the abandoned sheep pens, and filled a large bucket with water. He set it in a corner with a piece of wood floating in it to prevent it from freezing over. It would have to do. Whinnying followed him when he led his horses over there one by one across the path he kept clear of snow. They seemed content to huddle together to warm up the cold space, old squabbles forgotten, while Terje prepared the other pen and the two unused stables. He was still mucking out Stormy's when he heard the heavy engine of Elise's horse truck.

Elise looked as haggard as she'd sounded on the phone, but there was no time to dwell on it. Horses where stomping and huffing in the truck she drove, and as soon as she and one of the grooms got out of the cabin, Louise and Astrid arrived in a second truck.

Terje opened the tailgate of Elise's truck to lead the first horse to the barn. Elise followed with two others, hooves ringing out on the concrete and echoing between the barn buildings. The five that had been in her truck got their own stables, and they distributed the rest over the pens, shifting around the ones that didn't get along until the horses were as comfortable as they were going to get. Terje tossed slabs of hay and silage into the enclosures to keep them happy for now.

'Shall I call my nephew to come down to the farm so I can help you out?' he asked when he caught Elise staring at her horses, overwhelmed and lost. 'I've got to get back when Mia brings my kids over, but that's not until four.'

'If you would...' she said in a small voice. 

The destruction at the Aune stables was of a much larger scale than Elise initially let on. Most of the stable complex was lost, and the remaining horses milled about in the corrals. There was a police investigation in full swing amid the charred ruins when Terje grabbed two horses to load them into his trailer. He didn't ask Elise how this could have happened. It seemed pointless with so much to do, and he'd never seen a single exposed wire or a careless smoker in all his time working for the Aunes.

No one was allowed near the wreckage of the stable but police- and firemen, so Terje got busy calling family and acquaintances to ask for temporary housing for the now homeless horses. Most of the showjumpers would be picked up by their original owners as soon as it could be arranged, but the horses Elise and her mother owned would have to find semi-permanent shelter in the area until the property had been rebuilt.

Terje worked with the grooms to bundle up the stressed, cold, and tired horses in what had been salvaged of blankets and leg protection, and loaded them up to send them off to stables everywhere between Lillehammer and Gjøvik. He returned to the manor with Astrid after unloading the last trailer at a local riding school. The vet was just finishing an autopsy on what Terje realised with a shock was the carcass of Castlefield. The stallion collapsed after inhaling too much smoke when one of the grooms pulled him from the burning building, Astrid told him with tears in her eyes. Castlefield's body lay stiff with rigor mortis and soot stained in the snow that covered the outdoor riding school.  

The vet made a call to get the carcass disposed of while Elise crouched near Castlefield’s head to say goodbye, shoulders slumped in powerless grief.

Terje urged her up after a moment, and pulled her into a tight hug.

The smell of wood smoke was heavy on her hair, and stale sweat on her clothes. Terje felt his own eyes burn, knowing what Elise must be feeling.

‘Is there anything else you need before I go?’ he asked when Elise stopped shaking, her arms clamped tightly around his waist.

‘I don't know. If you could just take care of the ones at the farm...'

Terje left after writing down her feeding instructions. He was about to open the door of his pickup when her Range Rover pulled up. Two battered grooms got out of the passenger and back seat, one coughing something fierce and one with a bandaged arm.

'Terje, hey,' said a voice he hadn't been able to recall the exact sound of no matter how hard he'd tried.

Terje looked up to see Nils gaze at him over the top of the Range. His heart stopped. And started back up again, beating wildly. He glanced around out of habit, to see if anyone was within earshot or paying attention to them. 'Nils...'

They stood staring at each other for a long moment.

Terje's voice shook when he stammered: 'God, I've missed you.' 

'I thought about you once or twice,' Nils said with a wink.       

Terje glanced at his watch to see if they had time to talk.

'You've got somewhere to be?' Nils asked.

'I need to be home for the kids in half an hour. My ex is bringing them over.'

Nils searched Terje's face. 'You got divorced?'

Terje nodded, speechless under Nils' intent gaze.

After a brief hesitation, Nils walked around the Range. Terje met him at the tailgate. Reaching out with a gloved hand, Nils took Terje's, shielded from view by the cars. 'Let's meet up soon.'

'Sure. Yeah,' Terje brought out. He briefly squeezed Nils' hand.

'You still have the same phone number? I'll call you.' Nils let go with a promising smile. 'Go see your kids.' 


	20. Chapter 20

When Elise came to check on her horses at the farm the next day, Nils accompanied her. Terje heard them talking as they each carried a heavy bag of horse fodder up the laneway. He stood rooted to the spot in indecision in the barn for a long moment before walking up to meet them halfway.

He took the bag from Elise. 'How are you holding up, sweetheart?'

Elise let out a heavy sigh. 'I'm devastated and exhausted, but it's something of a blessing that I don't have any time to sit and contemplate what happened.'

Shifting the bag in his hands, Terje freed one to give her arm a squeeze. 'Make sure you take care of yourself. This is bad enough as it is.'

She nodded bleakly. 'I'm meeting the police with my father when I'm done here. They said they had a lead they wanted to talk about. And tomorrow Castlefield's owner is flying over... This is a nightmare.'

Nils followed Terje to the stables when Elise slipped into the barn that held half her horses in the sheep pens. He set his burden down with measured strength, then turned to Terje. 'So this is where you live. I've been thinking about you a lot since the other day.'

'Have you?' Terje said guardedly.

'You want to meet me in town for dinner tomorrow?' Nils held his gaze. His coyness frayed at the edges, no longer as carefree and innocent as he had been five years ago. 'So we can talk?'  

'I don't do that.'

'Fine, I'll come visit you here.'

Terje shook his head. 'You can't. My farm hands...'

Puzzlement flashed across Nils' face. 'You're still not out.'

Terje shifted away from him when he heard footsteps outside.

Elise poked her head around the door. 'Where is that burn ointment I gave you yesterday?'

'In the medicine locker.'

Elise took it with grim determination, leaving them alone again. 

'You divorced your wife but you're still in the closet?' Nils pressed.

'Keep it down,' Terje bit at him. 'I never wanted to get divorced.'

'Yes, you did. You told me you were going to leave her at least three times.'

'What's it to you? We never had a future together.'

'Never used to. But you're divorced and I'm back.'

'Nils, don't...'

'You're not still afraid of your parents, are you? You're a grown man, for heavens' sake.'

'I already lost a sister, I don't want to lose any more family.'

'If they don't accept you, they're not worth it.'

'Easy to say if your parents have always supported you.'

'You think it was easy? You think I never noticed that my mum had to fake it for the first few years?'

'Nils, stop. I don't want to have this conversation now.' 

'Goddamnit Terje, are you saying there isn't any way that we can talk?'

Terje expelled a controlled breath. 'Come to the farm tomorrow, then. Just keep it under wraps a bit.'

A bitter expression pulled at Nils' mouth. 'You mean pretend to be something I'm not for your peace of mind?'

Thankfully, Elise was too preoccupied to notice Nils' mood when they looked at the raw, blistering burn across Diva's haunches. A falling piece of burning timber hit her when a groom rushed her from the burning stables, and she seemed to be in pain, withdrawn and unresponsive. Terje dosed her with painkillers the vet prescribed feeling doubly awful, on account of the horse's injury and his unintentional slight towards Nils.

Only after Nils left with Elise, Terje realised that he had no idea how to tell Frode about this. It messed with his head that Nils came breezing back into his life just as he thought he'd figured out his feelings for Frode. He decided that if anything, he didn't want to lie to Frode. He'd had his fill of lying to everyone. He typed out a quick text before he started milking to give Frode time to ask questions.

_Meeting Nils tomorrow since he's back in the country. I'm assuming you don't mind since you still talk to your ex, but I wanted to let you know_

Frode only replied with a brief: _Have fun_.

Kat and Asbjørn reacted with similar disinterest when he told them he had a friend coming over during dinner and he needed some space. Asbjørn didn't even bother to swallow his food before saying: 'I'll be pretending I don't exist upstairs.'

'Alright there, Harry Potter,' Terje said, glad that no one made a big deal out of it.

The three of them were still having coffee when Nils suddenly appeared in the hallway.

'Good evening,' he greeted with a mysterious smile that accelerated Terje's heartbeat as much as it ever had.

Terje quickly got up to intercept him, and found he couldn't escape the two kisses Nils offered in greeting.

'How did you get in?'

'Your puppy showed me.'

Nora sat on the flagstone floor next to Nils, looking up at him adoringly.

Nils extended a hand to Kat and Asbjørn, who both seemed impressed by his expensive clothes and his charm. Terje had to send them some pointed stares to remind them of his request to be left alone.    

Nils took a seat on the couch and looked around with a self-possessed air, taking in the details of Terje's home. Bringing him tea, Terje couldn't have felt more nervous attending royalty. 

'How are you?'

Nils took a sip of his tea before speaking. 'Not great. I've hit a bit of a rough patch in my career. I'm not actually sure I'll be able to dance again at this level.'

'What happened? Did you get injured?'

'No, someone in the company recognised me from some work I did as a student. I suppose it could be considered inappropriate.'

Terje stared at him for a moment before he got what Nils meant. 'You idiot.'

'I was rather used to a certain standard of living, and the ballet academy didn't leave me much time to work... I didn't mind, it was even fun at times.'

'But it might have destroyed your career.'

Nils shrugged his shoulders. 'I just need to find a part of the world where people are still in the dark.' 

Terje reached for his coffee, shaking his head.

'How long has it been since your wife left?' Nils inquired.

'Two years.'

'That's a decent interval.'

'For what?'

'Come on, Terje. Don't you feel like we should give it a real shot? See if there's still something there?'

'There's still something there,' Terje admitted, crossing his arms in front of his chest, 'but I couldn't.'

'Because you don't intend to ever come out?' 

'Nils... I have a boyfriend.'

Nils sat back with an astonished expression. 'You can't be that serious about him if you're still keeping it a secret. Dump him.'

Even as Nils sat there with all his beauty and charm and exciting mysteriousness within reach, Terje realised how much more he preferred the visceral connection he shared with Frode. The level of comfort that had already grown between them. The steady affection that had been improving his quality of life unnoticed for months now. 

'I'm not sharing,' Nils warned, playfully sweeping his dark blond waves back.

'I love him, Nils. Part of me is still crazy about you, but all things considered we barely know each other.' 

Nils regarded him for a long moment, then his expression softened. 'What's his name?'

Terje hesitated.

'You don't trust me with that information? What are you afraid of? That I'd out you after keeping your secret all this time?'

Terje silently took a sip of coffee.

'I wouldn't, even though I think you're a bit of a coward. But what's the worst thing that could happen? Apart from people knowing you're in love?'

'Come on, Nils, what do you think? Being ostracised by the community, the people I do business with; having my ex think our relationship was a sham from beginning to end; my children getting bullied over it… It's not just myself I'm trying to protect.'

Nils sighed inaudibly. 'I guess it's easy to forget how that is in rural areas.'

'I love him, but I need a bit more time. It's only been a few months.' 

'Does he love you, too?'

'I believe so.'

'I guess we're done here, then.'

Despite everything, Terje felt something die inside of him to hear Nils say that. 'Listen, Nils... If you ever need anything, call me. You'll always be important to me.'

Nils shot him a wry smile. 'So what does your boyfriend think of this?'

Terje frowned, and took a look at his phone. 'He said it was fine, but I haven't actually heard anything else from him since.'

 

*******

Preoccupied as Terje was with caring for ten extra horses, some of which were injured and needed treatment more than once a day, it took him a while to realise his messages to Frode were no longer arriving. He tried going inside where he had Wi-Fi and forcing them to send, but the problem didn't seem to be with his phone. He headed outside for some privacy, crunching through the freshly fallen snow, and rang. His call went straight to voicemail.

Terje tried again, stubbornly refusing any explanations for why Frode wouldn't want to talk to him, or worse, couldn't. He kept ringing until he reached the house, where he forced himself to decide how to follow up. His hand reached for the key of his pickup.

'Kat?'

The urgency in his voice had Kat hurrying from the scullery. ‘Something wrong, Terje?'

'I don't know. Maybe. I'm going to be gone for a while.' He left without another word.

Once on the road, his worry mounted. He couldn't make up his mind about whether he'd done something wrong, or whether Frode's phone had simply crapped out, or whether something more serious had happened. When he got to Frode's cabin, Frode's car was gone and snow lay like a heavy blanket across the property. Days' worth of precipitation stacked against the front door and windows. Terje parked along the side of the road, and waded through the snow to knock on the door with a sickening anxiety swirling in his gut.

'Frode! Are you there?'

There was no sound, no barking coming from inside. Terje circled the cabin, peering through the windows. The house looked like it usually did, orderly but lived in, seemingly as if Frode could return any moment. Not knowing what to do, Terje looked around. There was no one he knew, no one in Frode's life he could contact. For lack of anything better to do, Terje schooled himself to calm. There was probably a rational explanation for this. On the back of a gas station receipt he found in his car, he scribbled a note in case Frode would return.

_Hey Frode, if you read this, get back to me. This radio silence has got me worried. Swing by the farm, or call, anything. I need to know you're ok. I love you, T_

Kat asked him what was wrong again when he returned home.

'I haven't heard from Frode in a few days, and he's not been home by the looks of it.'

'Maybe he's gone to see family. It's the holidays, after all.'

Unable to shake his worry, Terje blurted out: 'He would've let me know.' 

He went over again in the evening and the next morning, but there was no change save for his own tracks in the snow. As he penned Frode a second note, an elderly lady walked across the road.

'Nothing like Frode to be gone so long.' 

'When did you last see him?' Terje asked.

'As far as I know he hasn't been back since he left on the twenty sixth. I last talked to him when he shovelled my driveway. Said he was going to dinner with his family.'

Terje searched the lady’s face, but she seemed to have no more knowledge about the situation than Terje.

'I hoped he'd be back sooner. I can barely step outside.' The old lady eyed Terje a long moment. 'You look strong.'

'I know,' Terje said distractedly, before realising he was missing the point. 'You got a shovel lying around?'

He worked up a sweat, clearing the old lady’s driveway. Even though he had work to do at the farm, it was an excuse to linger. The old lady talked to him from the porch.

'You two been friends for long?'

'Since we were kids,' Terje replied, heaving a shovelful of snow to the sides.

'Never saw you here before this summer.'

'We lost track of each other for a while.'

'You never bring that dog anymore.'

'My dog's working. I should be, too.'

The snow that fell in the night filled up Terje's tracks around Frode's house come morning, and undid most of his work on the old lady’s driveway. He offered to clear it again when the she stepped out, glancing at Frode's house every now and then, hoping that today would be the day Frode decided to come home. As long as he didn't, he would take listening to the old lady’s observations about Frode over sitting at home doing worrying.

'Why are you looking for him?' The old lady eventually asked from her porch.

'Because he isn't answering his phone, and he never mentioned he'd be gone for any amount of time.'

'I want to say he'll turn up again, but it's becoming more and more unlikely with every day.'

Terje spun around to meet the her eyes. 'What makes you say that?'

'He's a troubled young man, isn't he? The police was at his door the night he left. Not for the first time either. Missed him by a couple of hours.'

'I need to find him,' Terje muttered. 'Do you know where his family lives?'

‘No, sorry.’

Terje stood thinking for a moment, searching for an alternative to the one lead he hadn't yet followed. He would only go ask his mother if he exhausted all his other options.

The routine of his work at the farm left him too much time to think and analyse the bits of information he pieced together. Frode's run ins with the police had always been drugs and mental health related. Had Terje missed something? Had he been too preoccupied with his own feelings to notice Frode had been losing his grip again? The urge to call the police or the hospitals of the area and ask if Frode had turned up there grew stronger when it got dark, as did his worry. Terje picked up the phone after forcing dinner down his throat, but ended the call as soon as he heard it ring when he dialled the number of the nearest hospital. What was he going to say? As neither family nor a registered partner, was anyone even going to give him information? 

'Where are you going?' Kat asked when he pulled on his coat and stepped into his boots.

'I need to ask my mother something.'

The light of his parents' TV changed colour against the far wall of the living room as Terje knocked on their door. His mother opened up after suspiciously peering through the window first.

'Torgeir! What a nice surprise. Come on in.'

Terje didn't follow her inside when she beckoned. 'Ma... Do you know where Marit Stedjeberg – I mean Solheim – lives?'

Grethe hesitated with one foot on the rug that ran the length of the hall.

'How am I supposed to know, darling? I don't have anything to do with that woman.'

'You knew a lot about them when I first asked you. Can you find out?'

It was sickening to see how his mother perked up at the smell of a potential scandal. She all but danced over to the phone.

When she picked it up she held it to her chest with a calculating stare, refusing to do as he asked just because he asked it. 'What’s going on, Torgeir?'

'I’m looking for Frode.'

Uncertainty flickered in his mother's eyes as she watched him.

'Ma, please. He's gone and I don't know what to do.'

His mother's stare transformed as she dialled a number, and Terje could feel it on him as she cooked up a story for a friend to get her in touch with someone else who might have the address. All he could do was weather it. He didn't even care if this was how his mother found out. As long as he got Frode back.

At last, His mother scribbled something down on a piece of paper. When she handed it over, she held on to it for a moment as Terje tried to take it. 'I'll tell your father you were here to ask if we had plans for New Year's day,' she said pointedly.

'Thank you.'

A white house at the end of an unpaved road up the mountain in Vingnes seemed to be Terje's destination. Frode’s car was parked in the driveway. Terje approached the front door with blood pounding in his ears. Strider briefly barked at him from behind the glass panel in the door. Eventually, a middle-aged man with wild curls and vaguely familiar features opened up. Espen’s old man, Terje assumed.

'Good evening. Can I help you?' Espen’s dad asked when Terje knelt in relief to greet Strider.

Frode's dog pressed himself to Terje's leg with violent tail-wagging.

'Hey, Strider, hey buddy,' Terje said, hugging him. He looked up at Espen's dad. 'Is Frode here?'

'No. Can I take a message?'

'Where is he? What's going on?'

Espen's dad hesitated. Marit Stedjeberg entered the hall through a side door, and took Terje in from head to toes.

'Terje Hansen, is that you?'

Terje nodded with his lips pressed tightly together. He struggled to keep his voice under control. 'Do you know where Frode is?'  

Marit's face fell. 'You'd better come in.'


	21. Chapter 21

The day after Christmas, the one the Stedjeberg family usually reserved to sit down for dinner together, Frode spent the afternoon at his mother's house cooking. He found it harder than expected to be fully present even when doing something as simple as preparing food, because all he could think about was Terje. Terje told him he loved him. He couldn't shake the light-headed joy of hearing that someone he liked so much learned to love him in spite of everything.

Espen first commented on it when he got lost in thought in the middle of slicing meat and stood staring through the window like an idiot, but he accepted it when Frode brushed it off. The second time, with the tap running for an indeterminate amount of time as Frode forgot he was washing his hands, Espen took his face between his hands.

'Frode, are you fucked up right now?'

'Sheepie, I swear, I was just thinking.'

'Are you worried about something?' Espen pressed.

'Drop it, Es,' Daniel interjected, walking up to refill his coffee cup. 'That's not the face of a worried man.'  

'That's why I asked whether he's high.'

Daniel shot Frode a calculating stare as he left the kitchen. 'On oxytocin maybe.'

'Did you get laid?' Espen guessed. 'Are you seeing someone again? You are, aren't you? Why aren't you talking about it?' 

'I really can't. All I can say is that there's nothing to worry about, and I'm quite alright at the moment.'

Espen's eyes brimmed with empathy as he cocked his head. 'Are you afraid you'll get dumped and then have to let everyone know again?' 

'Espen, stop it.'

Espen fell silent, thinking.

'Don't,' Frode pleaded.

'Oh, I know,' said Espen. 'Is it T-'

'For fuck's sake, are you not listening to what I'm asking you?' Frode barked. 

Espen startled, his eyes widening. 'I'm sorry.'

'Forget what you think you know. Don't breathe a word of it to anyone else. Under _any_ circumstance. Do I have your word?' 

‘Wow, okay. I'll keep it to myself.'

Thankfully he did, though Frode could see he had a hard time keeping his mouth shut when Jens made a joke about Frode bringing his dog as his date for Christmas for the second year in a row.

'I do love that dog a lot,' Frode said a little too loudly before Espen slipped up.

'I'd bring your dog as a date anytime,' Kristin said. 'He's a good boy, and he runs his mouth a lot less than my current one.'

As the conversation moved on to other things, Frode remained stuck on Jens' remark. Especially now that his relationship with Terje had turned serious, what could he expect from the future? Was he always going to be showing up alone and pretending he had given up entirely on trying to find someone? The thing he cherished about his previous relationships, other than having someone to love and have sex with, was feeling like a team, like he and his partner had each other's backs, and displaying affection for each other regardless of who could see how much he was in love. Pretending otherwise and carrying out every interaction in secret was not an easy choice to stick with.

With the things Terje said about his preference to remain in the closet, Frode heavily doubted whether things would ever progress enough for them to be openly dating. Terje had been with his last boyfriend for about three years in secret.

The stupid thing was that Frode never heard another partner say they loved him – he and Elise never got to that point, and Daniel never returned the sentiment. Then again, perhaps it wasn't such a big deal for Terje as it was for Frode. After all, he probably told his wife the same thing every day, even as he slept with someone else behind her back. And touching on that, what could Frode really know about Terje when Terje dictated the terms of their relationship at every turn? He could be seeing other guys and keeping them all in the dark about each other for all Frode knew, seeing as Terje cheated before. And Frode wasn't exactly a catch for a guy like Terje, with his track record of mental illness and addiction. But then, if Frode didn't allow Terje to walk all over him and let him have his way, he'd have nothing, and they both knew it. Frode tried to shake the cloying nausea that came with the intrusive thoughts, but his mind was still going back to them in circles when the doorbell rang.

Marit got up to open the door, and everyone fell silent, listening in for who could be visiting at this time.

'Marit Stedjeberg? I'm detective Haugland with the Lillehammer police department. We're looking for your son Frode.'

Frode felt a hot rush of blood colour his face as every head around the table swivelled towards him.

'Frode?' Marit called. 'Could you come to the door?'

'What have you done now?' Jens hissed.

'Nothing that I recall,' Frode said, getting up and moving as if through water to the hallway. Two policemen waited on the steps outside.

'Why don't you come in so we can close the door?' Marit suggested, shivering in her dress. She shot Frode a questioning look behind the officers' backs. 

Frode could only meet it with blank confusion. 'How can I help you?' he asked the policemen.

'We need you to come to the station to answer a couple of questions with regards to the fire at the Aune stables.'

'There was a fire? Is Elise okay?' Frode asked. 'And the horses?'

'Funny you should ask,' said the younger policeman. 

'You should know that you don't have to answer any questions without a lawyer present,' the detective with the salt and pepper moustache informed him.

'No, it's fine, I'll come. Did you mean right now?'

The detective nodded, ushering him towards the door. Frode grabbed his coat on the way out.

Marit held him back by his arm. 'I'll call my lawyer. Don't worry.'

'I'm not worried. It'll be fine.'

In the back of the patrol car, Frode didn't really know what to say. The older officer introduced himself as detective Haugland, but when Frode looked to the younger, he received something of a smirk.

'We've met, haven't we, Frode? Or don't you recall?'

'I'm afraid I don't.'

'Took you a while to get into trouble again.'

'How much trouble could I possibly be in?' Frode wondered. 'I don't even know what's going on.'

'I guess we're going to find out.'

At the station, they ushered him into a room and sat him down with a camera recording everything he said or did.  

'What's this about?' Frode asked. 'What happened to Elise?' 

'On the night of the twenty-fourth, the Aunes' stable complex went up in flames.' Detective Haugland sat back in his chair to watch Frode’s reaction to the information. 'Miss Aune was unharmed, something that can't be said for some of her horses.'

'I'm sorry to hear that. That her horses got hurt, I mean.'

'Tell me about your relationship with Elise Aune.’

'Elise and I dated a couple of months last summer.'

'It ended badly.'

'It ended. Elise and I had a good relationship prior to that.'

‘How did it end, according to you?'

Frode took a moment to recall the unclear details, cursing himself for his heavy drinking during that period. 'We'd been seeing each other a few months when she decided to break up with me. She was cross about discovering I kept information from her that I didn't feel comfortable disclosing at the time.'

'There was a conflict after the relationship ended.'   

'A small incident. Not long after we broke up, I tried to get something back that I forgot at her place. I went to her house and we had words over her unwillingness to receive me. She set the item in question on fire-'

'And so you decided to set fire to something of hers?'

'What? No! I respected her wish to never contact her again. I went on with my life.'

The detective scrutinised his face.

'Am I a suspect?'

'Depending on your alibi. Where were you on Christmas eve?'

Frode felt his mouth go slack when he realised he had no alibi for that night. Not without exposing Terje. 'I can't tell you.'

'Why not?'

'Have you got any evidence placing me at the scene, or is this just Elise and you guys jumping to conclusions?'

Detective Haugland regarded him silently for a beat. 'Where were you on the night of the twenty-fourth, Frode?'

'Not anywhere near Elise's property.'

'Then what's the harm in telling me?'  

'I can't tell you that, either. Believe me when I say you'll never be able to place me at the scene. I wasn't there. There is no evidence. Anything you think you have on me has to be circumstantial.'

'We'll decide that, smart-ass,' Haugland said. 'I'm keeping you here on account of obstruction of justice until you tell me where you were on the night of the twenty-fourth.'

An uncertain dread settled over Frode when the detective formally placed him under arrest and he was escorted to a holding cell.

*******

The police officers that checked up on Frode in his cell treated him with surprising respect given his history and his previous stints at the station. Sober this time, Frode took in every detail of his surroundings with a detached fascination. Depending on the skill of his mother's attorney, this might be his view for a considerable time to come. The irony of his earlier doubt about the secrecy of his relationship did not escape him, trapped in holding with no way out. Now would have been a very convenient time to be able to open up about Terje. 

Throughout the evening and night, small interactions with the officers distracted him from his wistful thinking. The bleak future he imagined forever pretending nothing existed between him and Terje beyond basic friendship suddenly seemed rather satisfying compared to standing trial for a crime he did not commit. What sort of future would they have if he got wrongfully convicted? Terje sure as hell wouldn't come visit him in prison. 

'How are you holding up, Stedjeberg?' a beefy officer that seemed vaguely familiar eventually came to ask.

'I'm okay. I wish I had the exams I need to grade in here or something. I can't sleep anyway.'

'Exams? Are you a teacher now?'

'Yeah.' A sudden thought struck fear into Frode’s heart. What would happen if he was still stuck in jail by the end of the holidays? How could he explain his absence and the lack of work he'd done without losing his job? And all the students that relied on him for the help he promised – he imagined they’d feel like he let them down. He didn't want that, but he didn't want to out Terje without his consent either. What was worse, even if he did try to avoid prison by outing Terje, there was no way to prove he told the truth, either. Terje could denounce him and get away with it. Between a respectable, hardworking father of two and an ex-junkie with mental health issues and a record of getting into trouble, it wasn't hard to gauge who would have more credibility.

'You cleaned up your act then?'

'What act?' Frode said angrily. 'That you caught me in a weird place because I lost my partner and my job after I nearly lost my brother all in the span of six months doesn't mean I haven't been a hard-working honours student and model employee for the majority of my life. Or that I'm not trying my damndest to recover and live my life in the best way I can. Fuck off.'

The officer left him alone after that, and Frode actually slept a couple of hours, even though the bed was narrow and unfamiliar, and the prison garb he wore felt weird on his skin. Somehow he managed to put his fears aside by deciding to trust in the justice system. His mother's attorney would be there in the morning, and they would figure it out.      

Come morning, Frode met with Marit’s lawyer, who actually reminded him of his mother. She was collected, capable and experienced, and Frode felt better for having her keep an eye on the proceedings. Though she promised him she would watch out for procedural errors, she clearly did not trust him to be innocent.

When she left to review his case, Frode stuck to their strategy not to answer any more questions without her present, but that didn't mean that detective Haugland was going to give up. Somewhere in the middle of a dull afternoon he got hauled from his cell for another interrogation.

‘Seeing as my lawyer is not present, I imagine this is going to be a very brief talk,' Frode said when Haugland told him to sit.

'Tell me about your mental state. You've been admitted to a psychiatric clinic twice, yes?'

Frode said nothing.

'Both times it took police intervention to get you there.'

Frode stared over Haugland's shoulder, and tried to avoid looking directly at the detective or the blinking red light of the camera.

'You told Elise Aune that you struggled with depression and trauma.'

Frode involuntarily focused on Haugland's face, which seemed to embolden him to ask more questions.

'But there was more to it, wasn't there? You had a drug problem.'           

_Not at the time_ , Frode wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut. 

'Elise bought your story for a while. Until her farrier told her the truth about you.'

'Her farrier?' Frode blurted out. He immediately lowered his eyes to the table top to mask his expression, surprised at the confusing mix of feelings that news saddled him with. Terje had made it clear from the beginning that he had Elise's interests at heart, and warned Frode to come clean. Apparently he hadn't been satisfied with the way Frode tackled the issue. Interestingly, he had never owned up to the fact that his interference brought about the end of Frode and Elise's relationship. 

'What's that?' Haugland asked with interest, ducking his head to meet Frode's gaze.

'I would have told her myself,' Frode said. 'I didn't want to rush it and ruin everything.'   

'You didn't like that Terje Hansen meddled in your relationship.'

Frode held his silence again. He wanted to speak out and say Terje had every right to as Elise's friend, but he'd already slipped up by giving Haugland a reaction, and he wanted to avoid talking about Terje at all cost.

'Is that why you decided to pay the Hansen farm a visit back in June?'

'I thought this was about a fire,' Frode said, confused. 

Detective Haugland regarded him for a long moment, and Frode got a sinking feeling that the detective knew something he didn't. Anxiety roiled around in Frode's gut until Haugland spoke again.

'Tell me about your drug problem.'

 

*******

After a few days, the holding cell began to remind Frode unpleasantly of the closed ward in the psychiatry hospital. He didn't have to take any mind-altering medication, but that was where the differences ended. There was plenty of delusional yelling in the corridors both day and night, he didn't have any of his own belongings, and worst of all, he couldn't get away from it for one minute. Not knowing when – or if – he'd be getting out had his stomach perpetually in knots.

Detective Haugland let him stew for a while before he showed up again.

'Where's my lawyer?' Frode immediately asked when Haugland and another officer stepped into his cell and put him in handcuffs. 'What's this for?' 

'Pipe down, Stedjeberg,' said the officer closing the cuffs around his wrist.

Frode racked his brain for an explanation as to why they treated him like a dangerous criminal today. He'd been cooperative, other than using his right to remain silent. What had changed?

'You don't need to talk,' Haugland said. 'I want to show you something.'

Frode sat down in silence in the interrogation room, where the officer chained him down by the cuffs. Detective Haugland produced a file folder.

'I have a couple of pictures I'd like you to look at.' Haugland slid them across the table. 'Any of this look familiar?'

Frode looked, his curiosity getting the better of him. They were pictures of the remains of Elise's stables. Rubble and charcoal. Soot-stains and twisted metal. The extent of the damage was mind-blowing.

He slid the file folder back towards Haugland. Elise thought he did this. Thinking back on their history with regret, Frode silently cursed Terje. If it hadn't been for Terje poisoning Elise's mind against him, perhaps she wouldn't have been so quick to point fingers. 

'Did you guys round me up because I fit the profile as the ex-boyfriend, or does Elise actually think I did this?'

'Didn't you? Let’s be honest, you’re not always in your right mind. Maybe you repressed it?' The detective took a last photo and slapped it onto the table top. 'This might freshen up your memory.'

Frode turned the photo twice to figure out what he was looking at. It was as if his brain rejected the image before it could process.

'We have reason to believe the fire was started to cover up a crime of different nature, linking this one to a series of animal abuse cases in the region.'

The charred underbelly of a mare had been slashed open prior to the fire. What was left of a premature foal half-spilled out of the gash. The fire had not burned hot enough to consume the corpses properly.

Frode thought he might be sick. His head spun and the ground tilted up at him, but it passed when he breathed deeply and deliberately. He reconstructed what must have happened to the pregnant mare against his better mind. Someone had come up to her while she was locked in a stable and mutilated her with a knife until she lost her foal. Her last moments must have been terrifying beyond belief, either perishing from shock and blood loss or slowly choking and burning to death in a fire.

And he was in handcuffs because people thought he was capable of that atrocity. Of this absolutely sadistic and disgusting disregard for life.

Somewhere very distant detective Haugland spoke to him. 'So, is this the sort of stuff you like to do to vent you psycho tendencies? It took you a long time to muster the courage to attack another farm after you were nearly caught on the Hansen farm earlier this summer. Do you like to get to know your victims before you strike? Or do you only strike after they've pissed you off?’ Silence. Then: ‘What about Jan Halvorsen? What’s the link there?’

It went on for a while before Haugland gave up and had him returned to his cell. Frode skipped dinner that evening, still sick to his stomach about what he'd seen. Eventually, he lay down on the cot and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders. The patterns on the wall faded from his vision when more and more lights went out outside the cell. He didn't know what to do with the knowledge that the one person in the world could say with certainty that he was innocent probably had no idea what had happened to him. Or if he did by now, hadn't bothered to speak up.

Today's developments shook Frode's resolve to keep Terje's secret at all cost. Being seen as a spiteful ex-boyfriend was one thing, but being marked as the prime suspect in crimes where animals got hurt and killed was too much to ask. Was it going to come down to betraying Terje's trust to set the record straight? Could he choose himself and fight for the truth if he had to? Terje chose himself every time.

During the long, bleak night his thoughts drifted. Terje had to have noticed his absence by now. Frode cursed his own stupidity. He’d been given ample warning. Why had he ignored Terje's character flaws and allowed himself to fall in love with him? He'd known from the start that he was going to have to take the fall every time Terje was compromised. First a black eye, now a week in jail with no release in sight. Where was this going to end, if Frode didn't put a stop to it? After everything he'd done to repair his life and his reputation, was he really going to allow some guy to ruin him just because he said _I love you_ once? 

Frode rolled over onto his side to try and sleep. He resolved that he would do what he reasonably could not to betray Terje out of principle. But no more. This was the last thing Frode was ever going to do for him.


	22. Chapter 22

 

Terje rushed over to the Aune manor after his talk with Frode's mother, disregarding the hour and the snow-covered ruins of the stables. He was met with loud yipping when he pounded on the kitchen door. Elise opened up looking worried, and immediately asked after her horses.

'They're fine,' Terje snapped. 'Put on a coat and come with me.'

'What's going on, Terje?' Elise called, quickening her pace to keep up as he steered her towards his pickup.

'You need to tell the police to let him go. It wasn't him.' Terje held the passenger door open for her.

Elise didn't immediately get in. 'Who? Frode?'

'Yes, now get in.'

When Terje turned the key in the ignition, Elise slapped his hand away. 'Listen Terje, I want to trust you, but you've got to give me more than that. What makes you so sure?'

'He was with me that night.'

'With you? On Christmas eve?' Elise's eyes darted from Terje's face to the mountains in the distance, confusion written across her features.

Terje swallowed with difficulty. 'He's not been out of my line of sight. It can't have been him. You have to trust me.'

'I don't know, Terje. Who else would have done something like that?'

'That's the whole point, Elise. He wouldn't. He'd never try to get back at you like that. That's nothing like him, and... He's over you.'

'How would you know?'

Terje hesitated.

'Is he extorting you to do this for him, or something?'

'No, he's doing something for me, but it needs to stop.'

'Can you tell me what the hell is going on?'

'We're together, okay? I've been with Frode for longer than you have!'

'And you didn't tell me?' Elise smacked his arm indignantly. 'Here I was thinking we were such great friends!'

'Can we please just go and get him from jail?' Terje pleaded, starting the engine. 'Smack me all you want later, but I've been in the dark about this for days and he's in there thinking he's got to keep my secret and I'm going to let him stand trial because I don't want to get out of the closet–'

'Alright, alright! Drive.'  

The clutch caught as Terje hastily put it in reverse, and he backed his truck up muttering swears under his breath.

'Oh my god,' Elise babbled. 'You and Frode. You're gay.'

Terje didn't reply, focusing on navigating the road to the police station as quickly as possible across the slick snowy sludge on the road.

Elise spoke up again when they drove into town, her voice heavy with suspicion. 'Wait a minute – Did you steal Frode from me?'

Terje spared her a brief sideways glance. 'Of course not. Not consciously. There was a real decent interval between you dumping him and me realising I liked him.'  

'And you don't mind that he's fucked in the head?'

'I don't feel that when I stick my cock in him,' Terje said harshly, and at Elise’s shocked exclamation. 'No, he's been good since I made him forget about you. He's working again and everything.'

Elise tilted her chin up. 'Except that he's in jail.' 

'Yeah, and who put him there?' Terje barked at her.

'I didn't know they were going to arrest him just because I said he was one of the people I had beef with lately!' Elise shrieked back. 'Don't yell at me!'

Terje smoothed a hand across his face. ‘Sorry. I've been really worried.'

'Why?' Elise asked softly. 

'Because I didn't think I could just lose sight of him like that. And I thought... What if he's never coming back, you know?'

'That is fucked up. This whole thing is.'

'You're telling me.'

Terje held the door for her when they entered the police station, where a tired-looking receptionist glanced up at them. 'We need to talk to detective Haugland,' Terje told him.

'Detective Haugland is not in. I suggest you try again in the morning.'

'But it's important,' Terje insisted. ‘About the fire. Can't you ring him? It's not that late.'

'Do you have a tip or something?'

'A tip? No, just...' Terje leaned in to lower the volume of his voice. 'You've got the wrong guy.'

‘Yeah, just ring him,’ Elise said. ‘Tell him Elise Aune and Terje Hansen need to speak with him.

The receptionist stood his ground. 'Come back in the morning, when detective Haugland is in. I'll let him know to expect you.'

Terje remained standing, hesitant and disillusioned. He’d expected to solve this tonight.

'Can I talk to Frode Stedjeberg for five minutes?' he asked quietly. 'I know you're keeping him in here somewhere. Please.'

‘That’s not possible.'

‘Can you let him know I was here?'

'I'll see what I can do.'

'Thanks.' Terje let Elise draw him towards the exit.

'All this time you've been hiding, and I didn't even know,' Elise murmured as they walked with snowflakes blowing in their faces. 'You must have had such a hard life.'

'It's going to get better from now on. I'm going to make sure of it.'

*******

Terje steeled himself, entering the police station the next morning. The sleepless night he had did not help make it any easier to keep in mind that he was going to be okay whatever the fallout was. He'd still have Frode, and Frode would have his freedom. That was all that mattered.

A stern older lady in uniform looked up at him at the front desk.

Terje scraped his throat. 'I was here last night about that arson. They told me to come back in the morning, so...'

The receptionist peered at him over the rim of her reading glasses, and rifled through scribbled notes on the desk. 'Terje Hansen?'

'Yeah. I need to see detective Haugland. We've spoken before.'

The receptionist held up the note her colleague left late last night. She picked up a phone. 'I'll let him know you're here. Please take a seat.'

The wait gave Terje time to get irrationally nervous. His mind kept serving up long buried memories as if he needed to legitimise this step to himself. As if he was getting ready to bare his entire soul by revealing this one aspect about himself.

He remembered a hot summer spent sitting on the fence of the meadow, not even conscious of why he wanted to watch the sun beat down on the sweat-slick upper bodies of haying seasonal workers. He remembered spying on Lars' handsome best friend while they worked on a school assignment and dying a little inside every time he got caught. He remembered feeling more and more alienated every time his school mates leered at girls in the hallways - and faking a taste in women to avoid the wrong kind of attention. He vividly remembered his first time when he was about sixteen. That night, he’d been physically sick with imagined disease and fear that anyone would find out.

Roughly half an hour passed before he walked up to the receptionist again. 'Could you tell me how long this is going to take?'

'Detective Haugland is in the middle of an investigation, it might be a while.'

'He's wasting his time.'

'Please have patience.'

Terje glanced at the clock, and sat back down.

'Terje Hansen,' said detective Haugland when he appeared through a door at last. 'What can I do for you?'

Terje shook his hand. 'Can we talk somewhere private? It's about Frode.'

Haugland frowned at him as if to ask how he knew about Frode. 'Step into my office.'

Once seated in front of Haugland's desk, Terje forced himself to start talking. His mouth dried out in seconds from sheer nerves. 'This is all a big misunderstanding. I take it Frode still hasn't told you his whereabouts on the night of the fire?'

Haugland said nothing, but leaned forward with interest.

'It's because he's trying to protect my identity, because he spent the night at my house. I've asked him not to go public with our relationship a while ago.'

'Do you want to go on the record with this?' Haugland asked.

'Yes. I can prove it. I have messages about our plans. Photos with a time stamp. Whatever you need.'

Haugland called in one of his colleagues to write a rapport.

'To be precise, when did Stedjeberg come to you on the twenty-fourth?'

'Around half past six in the evening.'

Haugland studied Terje. 'And you can account for his whereabouts the entire night?'

'He only left at eight the next morning, and hasn’t been more than five feet away from me in all that time.'

Typing filled the awkward silence.

'Alright, thank you for the information.'

Terje waited uncertainly for the officer to finish up the rapport. 'Can I speak to him?'

'No. We still need to verify his side of the story.'

'How long will that take?'

'I couldn't say. It's probably best if you went home.'

'Will you let me know when he gets released?'

' _If_ he gets released,' Haugland said as if he still wasn't entirely convinced.

Terje left feeling frustrated and uncertain what to do. Going home alone rattled him after pinning all his hope on being able to take Frode home today.

Now that the word was as good as out, however, he supposed he needed to do some damage control. His mother would never forgive him if she heard about this through the rumour mill.

Once he stood in front of the closed front door, he couldn't bring himself to ring the bell, but his mother noticed him through the window, and opened up before he could walk away. His heart shot up in his throat as the door cracked open behind him. 

'Torgeir, what are you doing here? Don't you have to work?'

'Yeah,' he managed through the unshed tears suddenly blocking his voice. 'No, I –'

'What's going on, darling? Are you here for a reason?'

'To tell you something.' He sounded strangled even to his own ears.

His mother blinked uncertainly when Terje's voice caught. 'What is it? I didn't catch that. Is there something wrong?'

'Yeah, just...' He scrubbed at the sudden tears that left itchy, salty trails down his face. 'I'm gay.'

There was a stunned silence. His mother's expression turn sour.

'Since when?'

Terje looked down at his boots. 'Always.’

'But you were married to Mia! You have children! Why…?'

Terje covered his face with his hands to stifle the helpless sounds of grief that escaped him. 'I didn't want to give you and dad a reason to not love me anymore!'

'Oh, Torgeir,' his mother said in a bleak, disappointed tone. 'Well, I guess you tried. You're not involved with a man now, are you?'

Terje wept, unable to respond with anything coherent. His mother hesitantly wrapped her arms around him.

'Well, are you?'

'I am.'

'Does anyone else know?'

Terje wiped his face with both hands. 'Just Elise. And some cops.'

'Who is it?'

'Frode Stedjeberg.'

‘What have I done to deserve a child like you?' his mother exclaimed. ‘You’ll have to tell your father yourself. I haven’t the strength for that.’

In a daze, Terje stepped past her into the hallway. His mother followed him to the living room, but lingered in the doorway. Terje emptied his head of emotion and walked up to his father, who sat doing the crossword in the back of the TV guide.

'Morning dad. Don't bother getting up. I just want to tell you something.'

'Well, out with it,' his fathered ordered when Terje took a deep breath.

'I've got a new partner.'

'Took you long enough.'

'His – his name is Frode.'

'You mean a business partner.'

'No, he's my boyfriend.'

His father looked at him long and hard. Contempt slowly replaced his confused expression.

At the total lack of response, Terje turned around an walked away.

‘Always knew there was something wrong with you…’ his father said, soft and threatening.

Terje turned back around. ‘You didn’t have a clue. Otherwise you’d have stopped me from letting your farm hands take me when I was a teenager. But you didn’t see, because I’m not the one who has something wrong with him in this family.’

Shaking with white hot rage, his father's long, ashen fingers clamped around his empty coffee cup. Terje didn't duck when he threw it, but slapped it aside. The coffee residue left stains as the cup bounced across the beige carpeting.

'Get out of my house, you dirty faggot!'

‘There’s nothing I’d rather do,’ Terje bit at him. ‘I wonder how many of your four children will be left standing at your coffin.’

The second cup didn’t reach him. His mother began to shriek at his father about the state of the carpet. Terje closed their door behind him for good.

          

*******

A great amount of reluctance washed over Frode when a sassy female officer that reminded him of Elise came into his cell after lunch, and asked him to hold out his hands to be cuffed. Lingering horror from the previous day's interrogation drove him into the furthest corner of his cell, shaking his head.

'Come on, Stedjeberg, the detective needs to talk to you. '

'I'll come when my lawyer gets here.' 

The officer sighed, and closed the door. Frode could hear her talk through her radio. 'Need some help with Crazy Ex in the cell block. He's not cooperating.'

Haugland himself showed up in front of Frode's cell after a while, addressing his younger colleague. 'Choose your language with a bit more care in the future. Not only do the Stedjebergs have a team of lawyers just dying to catch us in a procedural misstep, but prisoners here are still innocent until proven guilty.'

Haugland opened the cell door, and closed it again behind himself. 'Still upset about yesterday?'

'I could've done without seeing those photos.' 

'That makes all of us involved in this case,' Haugland said in a moment of empathy. 'But I don't want to talk to you about the case today. Just about your alibi.'

'You need to handle your planning better if you want me to talk about that. Schedule a time where my lawyer can be present.'

'Your lawyer has been unable to get you out of here so far. What if I told you that talking to me today might make a difference between sleeping in your own bed tonight and an unknown length of time in this cell?'

'I know it would. But I made a promise not to talk about this, and that promise is more important to me than my bed.'

Haugland smiled wryly under that eyesore he called a moustache. Frode itched to take his clippers to it, though he imagined his own facial hair was getting out of hand as well.

'Terje Hansen was here this morning.'

Frode involuntarily leaned in.

'Don't you want to find out what he had to say about you?'

'You mentioned he told Elise I was a mental junkie,' Frode said guardedly.  

'Come on, Stedjeberg. Let's talk and get this out of the way.'

Frode offered his hands to be cuffed, then, and was escorted into the interrogation room a third time. Haugland didn't have him chained like a dog this time.

'How long have you been involved with Terje Hansen?'

Leaning his elbows on the desk between them, Frode covered the lower half of his face with his hands, trying to gauge what he could say, what Terje would have revealed if he had indeed been here. There was no way to find out what Haugland knew besides letting the conversation run its course.

'I've known him a couple months. We met this summer through Elise.'

'How would you describe the nature of your relationship with him?'

'I don't see how that is relevant,' Frode said to stall. He didn't want to risk revealing anything Terje didn't want him to after all the trouble he went through to cover their relationship up, and he wanted to avoid digging himself into a deeper hole by saying anything Terje was going to deny.

'Your release depends on it,’ Haugland answered. ‘Don't you think that's relevant? We've received some information that makes it likely we're wasting our time with you. So I'm asking you again.'

Frode hesitated a long moment. 'What was the question?'

'The nature of your relationship with Terje Hansen.’

The nature of their relationship. His release depended on his answer. He would get to go home. He could still have his job. Even if he said more than Terje intended, this one detective might not even spread the information. He was likely bound by oath, like a doctor. Perhaps it wouldn’t spread beyond a dusty police archive.

The nature. It felt strange to define it within the framework the detective required. Saying that out loud felt like violating their terms of agreement, after all this time. 'Romantic. I'm his boyfriend.'

Haugland glanced at notes in his file folder. 'Tell me about the twenty-fourth.'

'He invited me over to his house because he was alone for Christmas.' 

'What window of time did you spend on the Hansen farm?'

Frode breathed in relief to get it off his chest. 'The entire night. I got off the bus at... six twenty-three and walked straight to the farm. The next morning I took the eight thirty-one bus.'

'That's an incredibly specific answer.'

'I have a mind for numbers.'

Detective Haugland closed the file folder with an unreadable glance. 'It looks like your story checks out. You would've faced a trial to keep this a secret?'

Frode shrugged. 'I knew that if everyone did their work properly, it would never come to a wrongful conviction, and there'd be no harm done except everyone's time wasted. But if I'd outed Terje against his will, I could never take that back.'

Haugland gave a pensive nod.

'I won't deny it was hard,’ Frode went on. ‘It's one thing to have people believe you're an arsonist, but quite something else to be seen as some kind of monster torturing animals for his own sick pleasure.'

'I feared I pushed you a bit too far yesterday. It's good to see the light is back on in there.' Haugland tapped the side of his head. 'I'll walk with you to collect your stuff from Evidence.'

Still a bit stunned at the sudden end to his imprisonment, Frode accepted the clothes he had on when he got taken in, and his coat with his car keys and wallet. 'Sorry this was a dead end,’ he told Haugland. ‘I hope you have more luck solving this case in the future.'

'You can probably understand why we had to make sure it wasn't you. And I hope you have more luck staying out of jail in the future.'

'I'll give it my best shot.' Frode tried to turn on his phone, but the battery was dead. 'Can I use your phone to call someone to pick me up?'


	23. Chapter 23

Terje cursed detective Haugland all throughout the drive to the police station. A whole day had passed, and the detective still hadn’t called with news about Frode's release. Surely by now Haugland had had time to talk to Frode and verify what Terje told him If he hadn't yet, then Terje was going to make him right this second. He needed Frode home today.

Leaving his pickup half outside of the lines of a parking space, Terje all but ran to the station. An indescribable relief left him weak in the knees when he saw Frode waiting outside in the shadowy space between the street lights, breathing in freedom along with the cold night air.

Next to the stocky detective who smoked a cigarette alongside him, Frode had a frightening edge to his appearance; tall, gaunt and expressionless, his flaming hair lit from above but his eye sockets dark, empty holes. When Haugland spotted Terje, he went back inside with a curt greeting, holding his coat closed against the chill.

Frode stood staring at Terje as if he didn't know what to do with his newfound freedom. Loose, powdery snow dusted the shoulders of his parka, the fur on his hood, and his hair.

Terje hurried toward him with wild joy flooding his system. 'Hey,' he called softly.

Frode took a slight step back. 'I never said anything. I swear.'

Finally within reach of him, Terje tried to draw him in an embrace. Frode brought up his arms as if on guard for a fist fight. Terje grabbed him by the shoulders instead. 'I know. Why didn't you?'

'Well, there was that instant of you threatening to kill me if I outed you,' Frode said coldly, 'and the time you beat my ass because Kat caught you kissing me.'

'Things are going to change, okay?' Terje searched Frode's gaze and held it. 'To hell with secrecy. I'll tell everyone.' 

Frode was silent for a long moment. 'There's no need.'

Terje took Frode's head between his hands and rubbed a thumb across his cheekbone. 'Why not? I know this whole thing is my fault, separating you from the rest of my life like that, but I don't ever want to lose sight of you again. I was worried sick about you.'

Frode let out a controlled breath. 'Terje, I'm done. You have no idea how much this took out of me.' 

Icy fear froze up Terje's insides. 'Don't say that. It was just the circumstances. That's going to change!'

Frode's features suddenly twisted in barely contained rage and grief. 'You want to talk about circumstances? I wouldn't even have been arrested if you'd let me handle my relationship with Elise like I said I would. _You_ put the idea in her head that I'm crazy enough to have butchered her horses! I'm not saying I didn't expect you to say something inane about my mental state at some point, because you're a dumb, self-serving piece of shit, but fuck! I wish you'd left me well alone after Elise was done with me. Every time you set foot in my house it's to tear down what I've tried to build back up.'

'You don't mean that,' Terje pleaded. 'We're good together and it can only get better. Frode, please. I didn't stand by and let you go through this shit for nothing. I'm telling you I want things to change so it’ll never happen again!'

Frode's knuckles turned white gripping Terje's forearms. He forced Terje to let go of his shoulders. 'Don't make it sound like you're doing that as a special favour to me.'  

'I _am_ doing it for you! Or because of you, because you're worth it to me. Try to see what I mean.'

Frode turned his back on him and said nothing.

'I've been afraid my whole life,' Terje said quietly, 'but I want to overcome that now that I have you. I wish I was smarter, or that I'd been braver before all of this went down, but there you have it.'

'I don't see how regret is any premise for a good relationship.' Frode's face hardened when he looked back. 'You think I'm just going to forget what it felt like to be in jail knowing that even if I wanted to speak up for myself, you would simply deny it and there'd be no way for the truth to come out? You think that's just going to go away because you finally have the guts to tell your mum something you should have told her twenty years ago?'

Terje stood stunned, his mouth slack with the inability to say anything that might change Frode's mind.

A silver hatchback drove up. Frode started down the steps. 'Goodbye.'

Terje grabbed a fistful of Frode’s coat to stop him from getting in the car. 'Don't leave me.'

Frode shrugged off Terje's hand and got into the car. Terje was forced to step back as he shut the door. He watched Marit's car disappear down the road.

Now he had the opportunity to go home and pretend like nothing happened. Asbjørn and Kat were still in the dark, and his parents would never tell anyone about the shame he brought upon their family. But he couldn't. This hurt too much to bear alone.

Elise held him in her arms for the longest time when he showed up at her kitchen door. She rubbed his back as he cried with his face against her shoulder. 'Oh Terje, you stupid calf.' 'You'll be okay. Even if we're going to have to marry each other in five years after all.'

 

*******

Hitting the turn signal as she drove off the bridge, Marit sent Frode a brief glance. 'Are you alright? Do you want to tell me what happened?'

'Yeah, I'm okay. It's all cleared up now.'

'You've given me a proper fright, Frode. In my heart I knew that this was nothing like you, but when you're being so close-mouthed and not speaking up in your own defence... Well, you can imagine we all wondered.'

'I don't blame you.'

'How did you get out of there?' Marit asked, pulling back to look at his face. 'My attorney said you were in a state when she tried to talk to you last.'

'That must’ve been after Haugland piled on some pretty grim accusations.'

'Grim. You sound like Espen now.'

'There's no other word for it. They connected the case to those animal killings. He showed me these horrible photos…'

'So then you decided to give your alibi anyway?'

'Not voluntarily, but he got word of it today, so I confirmed it.'

'What were you doing that was so unspeakable, then?'

Frode shot her a faint smile. 'I was at someone’s house.'

'Why were you being so secretive about that?'

Frode fumbled for a way to make her stop asking. 'It was just... a gay thing. He didn't want people to know about it.'

He got out of the car when Marit pulled the handbrake in the driveway, and hurried up the steps to the door. He could hear Strider bark in the hall, and called to him.  

'Oh, he's missed you so much. He's been out of sorts all week,' Marit said, opening the door with her key. 'He was so upset when Terje Hansen came here.' 

Frode carefully brushed past her to greet Strider. Strider went from barking to whining and wriggling all over when Frode picked him up like a baby and kissed him on his soft, fluffy head.

‘Are you involved with Terje?' Marit asked quietly.

Frode stopped scratching Strider behind the ears to look at his mother. 'I was.'

'It looked like you guys were fighting at the police station.'

'I told him we were over. Every time he takes a risk I end up suffering the consequences. Not knowing to what extent he has my back killed me, in jail.'

'That's no basis for a relationship.'

'Yeah, I told him that.'

Frode set Strider down and wrapped an arm around his mother's shoulders, kissing her cheek. 'I'm sorry for giving you a reason to be worried _again_.'

She laid a hand on the small of his back. 'I’m glad it’s over for now.'

Frode sighed. 'I'd better go home. I have a lot of work to catch up on.'

'Call your brothers when you get home.'

Frode's house was bitterly cold when he entered, though he was surprised to see someone had shovelled his driveway in his absence. Frode flooded the house with light as he cranked up the heating. The pipes around the cabin ticked and bubbled as the central heating spread its warmth. It was good to be home and curl up on the sofa with Strider and some hot coffee.

Turning on the TV for some mindless distraction, he charged the battery of his dead phone. Messages rolled in as soon as he was able to switch it back on. There were a few from the family, and even Daniel, but texts from Terje interlaced them every day. With a sense numb melancholy, Frode scrolled back to the first he missed, dated on the twenty-seventh.

_Did you survive that family dinner or was it awkward holiday hell?_

And later:

_You're very quiet today. You're not mad about me talking to Nils, are you? Because you need to be straightforward about that sort of thing. I can't read minds._

On the twenty-eighth a series of casual messages predated several calls and voicemails. Frode rang his voicemail inbox and listened to them.

_"Hey Frode, it's me. I noticed you're not getting my texts so I thought I'd call. Guess you're busy. Talk later."_

_"Frode, it's me again. I thought I'd try one more time. I guess you haven't got reception up there or something. Call me."_

Later that day another text message arrived.

_I went to your house but you weren't there. I left you a note. I don't want to sound like a helicopter parent, but I figured you would've told me if you had plans to leave town or something. Where are you?_

And the next:

_You're still not home. Where did you go? Your neighbour said the cops came looking for you, and now I'm worried for real. I don't even know how to contact your family. This is bullshit._

Another voicemail:

_"Frode, please. I can't deal with not knowing what happened to you. Damn it all to hell, I'm going to find out where your mum lives and ask her. If you don't want me to, fucking call me. I love you."_

And later that night:

_I can't believe they took you in for that fire at Elise's, that's not even possible! Your mum said you're not talking and I know that's my fault so I'm going to get Elise right now and we're getting you the hell out of there._

And just before midnight:

_The police said they couldn't do anything at this hour of night and wouldn't let me talk to you and I'm pissed off and worried as hell about how you're doing in there. I'll be back first thing in the morning. Hang in there. I love you so much._

 

*******

As always, the reality of Terje's working life did not allow him time to mourn. It was hard to keep going every day he woke up and life went on without Frode, but the animals needed his attention and there were barely enough hours in the day to make sure they all had what they needed. And so his grief started coming out in the spaces between, when he couldn't force himself to eat dinner, and in the deafening silence of the night, and during the drives between visiting clients.

When his weekend with the kids came up after a week, he found that he couldn't deal with the idea of the added care for them.

'Mia, I'm not having the children over this weekend,' he told her curtly on the phone.

'But Harald and I are going to our cabin!'

'Looks like you're bringing Emma and Jakob,' Terje said, pacing the length of the hall. 

'No, they're staying with you like we discussed.'

'I said I'm not having the kids over!' Terje shouted through the phone. 'Last year I had to beg on my knees to see them every damn time and you cancelled on me without notice more times than I could count. Deal with it!'     

Asbjørn followed Terje with a concerned look from the open door to the living room.

'Stop yelling at me!' Mia shouted back. 'You haven't even given me a reason why!'

'I can't do it! I'm going to pieces here!'

'What's gotten into you? Why are you suddenly being so damn dramatic about-'

Terje hurled his phone at the wall with a bellow of rage. Asbjørn caught it when the protective casing bounced it off the wood.

'Aunt Mia? Hey... It's okay, Kat and I have time for Emma and Jacob. Bring them over any time. Uncle Terje's a little overworked. He –'

Terje pulled on his coat and stepped into his boots, and slammed the front door. He began to walk through the fields with no destination in mind. After an hour of plodding through the back fields the frost eventually cooled his anger enough to freeze the tears on his face. When he came to his senses a bit, shaking with exhaustion and hypothermia, he turned back.

Mia's car was the only thing not covered in snow when he walked past it up to the house, though the powder that covered him up to the knees began to melt in places. He tracked it inside as he kicked off his boots on the mat. Chairs scraped back on the tiles in the kitchen. Emma and Jakob rushed into the hall to greet him with tight hugs.  

'What's wrong, dad?' Jakob asked.

'Don't you worry about it,' Terje answered hoarsely. 

He had coffee with Mia, Asbjørn and Kat and pretended not to notice their stares. Mia stayed until after he put the kids to bed, and asked Kat and Asbjørn to give them some space. She took one of Terje's hands on the table top.

'I'm worried about this unstable behaviour of yours.'

'Give me a break. I just lost the love of my life. Can I be unstable for a minute?'

‘Terje, It’s been two years.’

Terje crossed his arms. ‘I didn’t mean you.’

‘Why don't you tell me what's going on?'

Terje looked out of the kitchen window. 'The same old thing. I didn't treat him well enough so he left.'

Mia was silent for a while. 'Him?'

Terje shrugged.

Mia searched his eyes. 'Is it weird to say I remember this face? There was this period of time where I felt like something monumental was happening in your life and I had no idea what.'

'There was someone, for a while. Remember Nils?'

'Elise's cousin?'

'He moved to Canada for work.'

'Christ,' Mia muttered. 'You of all people.’

‘I’m sorry. I gave it everything I had to repress it.’ 

'It makes sense, looking back.' Mia pulled a face.

'What gave me away?'

'Apart from being sex-repulsed? You always let me talk about my feelings and problems without offering a solution to shut me up. You're pretty emancipated when it comes to care tasks, and much less sexist than Harald.' 

'I really tried to be the best possible partner. But I shouldn't have blindsided you. I took years from you that were perhaps better spent with someone else.'

She sighed. 'It was hard to always feel like I loved you more than you loved me, but you were a good partner.'

Terje held out his arms and drew her into an embrace. 'I did love you in every way I could.'

'It's only that you're into boys in tights.' Mia lightly thumped his chest with her fist.

Terje let her go with a kiss on her hair.

'You know what?' said Mia. 'I'm glad you're finally honest with me. Maybe now we can put everything behind us.'

'I hope so.'

Mia regarded him for a moment. 'I wondered how I'd react you'd tell me you were dating someone new one day. I thought I'd be hurt and jealous, but now I'm only surprised. And… curious. Have you got a picture?'

Terje pulled his phone from his pocket with a sigh, and browsed for a decent photo of Frode. He settled on one where Frode sat reading a book with the dogs draped all over him.

Mia took the phone from him. 'Oh. He's not at all what I imagined.'

Terje snatched the phone from her hands when he saw her finger was about to touch the screen and swipe right, which would conjure up a rather compromising photo of Frode wearing only barely opaque thermal underpants.

Mia reached up to pat Terje's cheek. 'Hang in there. I'll see you on Sunday.'

'Thanks for listening. It means a lot that you've been so understanding.'

When the door closed behind her, two pairs of socked feet descended the stairs.

Emma leaned across the banister. 'Dad, we don't like it when you keep secrets from us. We know so little about you. It feels like you're not a real person sometimes.'

Terje stood rooted to the spot, staring up at them. 'What do you want to know?'

'What you and mum were talking about in the kitchen.'

'The thing is... I lied to you about Frode. He wasn't just my friend. He was my boyfriend.'

‘Are you gay now, or something?’ Emma asked uncertainly.

'Always been.'

'Does that mean you're not our dad?'

Terje took a deep breath. 'I am your dad, and I still love you more than anything in the world.'

Emma chewed her lip. 'If you really like boys, then you're allowed to, in my opinion.'

'Yeah, you're allowed,' echoed Jake, who had been quietly listening from the step above her.

'Good to know,' Terje said hollowly.


	24. Chapter 24

The students noticed Frode came back to work overwhelmed and unprepared. The reputation he built in the previous semester prevented them from taking their gleeful comments too far, but they got up in his business with questions every time he showed any signs of distraction or tiredness. Every day he regained a measure of control in one area something undid his progress in another. Students would press him for details of how he spent his vacation. More work got piled on top of his backlog. He'd think of Terje and unexpectedly choke up in front of the class.

When Jonas, Solveig and the others approached him on Friday afternoon, he was only seconds away from dismissing them outright to prevent a meltdown.  

'Frode,' Jonas asked, coming up to his desk as he packed his bag. 'Can we talk to you for a minute about an idea we have?'

Setting his bag on the table top, Frode nodded. 

'We want to create a support group for LGBT-plus students.'

'You're free to form any types of groups you like, as far as I know,' Frode said. 'It's a good idea. I'm sure it will benefit many students.'

'We were thinking of weekly meetings, and perhaps every month there could be a meeting for allies and we could talk about certain themes to educate people.'

'Sounds like you guys have it figured out pretty well.'

The kids watched him in silent expectation until Eirik said: 'Will you lead the meetings for us?'

Despite their hopeful faces, Frode shook his head. Pretending to impart kids with wisdom he didn't have was a bridge too far for him. Hungover and grieving, he could barely teach maths. 'Perhaps you can ask one of the councillors.'

'We want it to be you,' Jonas insisted. 'You're one of us.'

Frode hesitated. Perhaps he did have something to offer them. A cautionary tale. He could make sure that these kids, who were at much higher risk than their peers to fall into a depression or attempt suicide or succumb to substance abuse, would recognise the signs and know where to turn if it ever hit them or their friends. There were so many things they needed to be aware of regarding their mental health. They could benefit from advice on dating and safe sex that was tailored to them instead of the straight majority of their classmates for once. He could find the right information and make it comprehensible for them. Build a community for them. 'Sure, if that's what you want.' 

'Great. Fridays after school?' Eirik said.

The next week, Frode still had his doubts about staying after hours on Friday to lead the support group meeting. He wanted to go home and get ready to go out and fill the void Terje left with alcohol or meaningless sex, if someone would have him. Do the exact opposite of what he'd want to teach these kids. He was beyond saving anyway. But he'd promised he'd be there, and these days he tried not to break any more promises, big or small. So he borrowed coffee- and teapots from the teacher's lounge and set out a circle of chairs in his classroom.

The kids showed up in groups. His own students took seats with more ease than the kids he didn't know by name. Once they all found a chair and held paper cups, he gauged the mood.

'Would you guys want to discuss a lighter or a heavier topic today?'

Glancing outside at the darkened school grounds, Eirik said: 'Heavy suits me.'

The other kids nodded their assent.

'Let's talk about guilt, then. Plenty of things in life can be a source of guilt, but what happens when you're made to feel guilty about something you can't change? About your sexuality or your very identity? I'm one of the lucky few who's never had to worry about what others thought of my orientation, but I know a few things about how guilt can be a big source of trouble when you give it too much power over your thoughts and actions. How is that for you? Who wants to share their thoughts'  

Some of the kids stared at their toes when he looked around the circle, others caught their friends' eyes. Eventually, Jonas spoke up.

'I felt _some_ guilt towards my father when I first came out as gay, but it's much worse now. Since I told my family I'm actually trans I feel like I'm somehow robbing him of his only son, even though I never felt like a boy. Like, who's going to carry his name now? Is he going to be embarrassed that he didn't manage to father a proper son? Or angry at my mum for indulging me as a child? I feel like I somehow owe it to him to live up to certain expectations.' 

Frode nodded, and when no one else spoke up, said: 'The thing about guilt is that it generally raises good questions about your choices and your relationships - like whether you've been fair to someone or acted in good faith. But especially when it comes to feeling guilt about your identity or sexuality, there are certain notions that you and your parents are going to need to move past.'

'Like what?' Jonas asked uncertainly.

'Your parents probably had children out of some form of wish fulfilment, and that's very human, but it's not actually up to you to fulfil those wishes for them. If your parents struggle with anger or disappointment about the future they envisioned for you, they owe it to _you_ to resolve those issues within themselves so they can continue to provide care and support to the best of their ability. They took a responsibility by bringing you into this world. It was their choice. You had no say in how your genetic blueprint would turn out or what kind of people would raise you.'

Students nodded to themselves around the circle. 

'A good parent will set their expectations aside and love all of you no matter what,' Frode continued. 'Which is not to say that you can all go home and act like a brat because Frode said you don't owe your parents anything. I'm not talking about behaviour. I'm talking about what makes up the core of your being.'

'Can you come talk to my mum?' one of the girls said with a tired laugh. 'Every time I mention anything gay she tries to guilt me about not having grandchildren.'

'Well, we could eventually host meetings for parents to make them aware of what's on your minds, if you want. It might be helpful for them in their process of learning what you need from them.'

Setting that idea aside for later consideration, Frode moved on to let other kids tell their stories. More of them scrounged up the courage to speak now that Jonas broke the ice.

They'd been talking for an hour and a half, about to move on to deciding the next week's topic, when someone sent him a text message. Frode took a quick look at it.

_I can't believe it's been three weeks. I'm sorry if this is out of line, but I miss you so much. Come back to me. We can work this out. ~ Terje_

Frode was tempted to tell Terje he missed him too. Then again, he also missed being able to take sleeping pills three at a time when he felt like shit. That didn't mean he needed to get back into it. 

He pocketed his phone. 'Can I see a show of hands for next week's topics? We could talk about minority stress and its effect on your brain, or about coming out to family...'

 

*******

Elise came up to Frode's house one Saturday morning a month after his release from jail. She looked small and sincerely remorseful as she stood waiting on the snowy porch. Opening the door for her, Frode found it easier than he imagined to make room for some forgiveness and understanding.

'I just wanted to say I'm sorry,' Elise offered at the door. 'I was scared it was you, because I knew I might have given you a reason for revenge after the way I broke up with you. I knew I should have done that differently, and I thought – Well, I thought wrong. Forgive me.'

She looked cold, her ears and nose tinged red from the cutting Februari wind.

'Don't worry about it. You want to come in?' Frode asked.

Elise stepped into his cabin warily, but she accepted a mug of coffee from him.

'I'm sorry, too,' Frode said when they sat across from each other at the dinner table. 'I saw the pictures. Knowing that you had to live that hurts, whatever happened between us.'

Elise stared into her mug. ‘Letting the wrong people in is something we're always wary of, but this... There was nothing we could do to prevent it. Or to stop it from happening again. I don't even know if I want to start over, knowing that we're on the radar of someone like that.'

'I'd gladly sit in jail some more if that'd solve anything, but Haugland needs to focus on the actual evidence. I think everyone would sleep better if the perpetrator got locked up.'

'I probably only delayed the investigation by sending them after you.'

'By a week, at worst.'

'I hope they didn't treat you too badly?'

Frode shook his head. 'It was quite alright. How are you holding up?'

'To be honest, we're all in survival mode. The ones that are left.'

'Your staff bailed?'

'Some, understandably. Sticking with me isn't going to further anyone's career at the moment.' Elise sighed. 'Thankfully I have a couple of people I can really rely on, like Terje. Knowing my horses are in good hands makes it easier for me to prioritise other stuff. Insurance claims. Reconstruction.'

'Right,' Frode said levelly, pretending he didn't hear Elise mention Terje. 'Will it take long before you can get back on the job?'

Elise held his gaze. 'I heard your relationship didn't survive.'

Frode tried for a light tone. 'No, indeed.'

'He's devastated.'

Frode held his silence.

'You should give him another chance. He came through for you, didn't he? The moment he had to make a choice, the moment it really mattered, he chose you.'

'I don't know, Elise.'

'He's aware that he's hurt you. Let him make amends. Let him show you what a great guy he really is. Now that everything's in the open your life together can finally begin. Don't you want to know what it could be like?'  

Frode bit his lip. Giving up his relationship with Terje brought him nothing, not even the peace of mind he hoped would come with moving on. There was only a deep deprivation. Without Terje he was back to square one.

After Elise left, Frode went for a walk with Strider to order his thoughts. Alone in the forest he couldn't get any clarity either. On impulse, he got into his car and drove over to the farm. Maybe if saw Terje, talked to him, he'd know for sure what to do.

Nora was on her best behaviour when he got out of the car, neither barking nor jumping up at him when she came to greet him and Strider. She trotted along with them up the path to the house.

In the pasture behind the barns, Terje had cleared a perfect circle of snow. Elise's chestnut mare cantered stiffly around him on a long lead, her nose in the air and her ears pinned. Scarring marred her skin over her left hind leg. At the fence, a ten year old girl with long hair flowing out from under her earmuffs watched Diva wear a muddy track in the dead grass beneath the snow. When Terje saw Frode stand there with the dogs, Diva tossed her head an slowed to a trot. Terje automatically cracked the longeing whip behind her hind legs, spurring her to a reluctant canter again. He let Diva finish another lap before slowing her down to a walk.

'I'll be right with you!' he called to Frode, at which his daughter turned around to stare. He took another couple of minutes to let Diva walk off the workout and stabled her. When he returned he sent Emma into the house. He waited to speak to Frode until the door fell shut behind her.

'Hey. How've you been?'

'Not great,' Frode said hesitantly. 'You?'

Terje lowered his bloodshot eyes and looked away across the misty white fields.

'Elise came to see me today. She raised a good question.'

Vulnerable uncertainty coloured Terje's voice. 'Like what?' 

'Why I didn't want to know what it could be like between us now that everything's in the open.'

'Please,' Terje said, opening his arms. 'We can have a good life together, I promise.'

Frode closed the distance and embraced Terje hard. The fabric of his parka rustled against that of Terje's long wax coat when Terje tightened his hold, resting their foreheads together.

'Shall I come back after the weekend?' Frode murmured. 'When your kids aren't around?'

'No, stay. I'm sure they'd like to meet you after all the questions they had.'

'You told them about me?'

'Them, Mia, Elise, Nils, my parents...'

'Your parents? What did they say?'

'They had a fit. I haven't spoken to them since.'

‘Oh no...'

'It's the last thing on my mind right now.' Terje nudged his cold nose against Frode's. 'I can't think about anyone but you. I can't care about anyone else.'

Frode's mouth found the warmth of Terje's of its own accord.

'Are we getting back together, then?' Terje asked when Frode pulled back to put his freezing hands in his pockets.

Frode nodded, and let Terje take one of his hands to tow him to the house to be introduced to his children.


	25. Chapter 25

 

Terje's black thoroughbred stood munching on the leftovers of his breakfast while Frode curried the sand and clumps out of his soft winter coat. Frode copied the motions Terje used brushing Diva in the stable next to him, trying to find a rhythm and pressure that was efficient yet comfortable for the horse. There was something very relaxing about the sounds and smells of the horse barn, more so than that of the cows. It seemed to be something of a sanctuary to Terje. Possibly because the farm hands rarely came here.

'I've been thinking about what you told me that night at the police station,' Terje said, not looking back at Frode through the bars of the partition wall. 'When you said I was a dumb piece of shit...'

Frode's hand stilled on Juventus' neck. 'Sorry. I shouldn't have said that.'

'But you did, and I think we'd better talk about it if we really want to make things right again.'

Frode nodded for him to continue, and went on creating circular patterns in Juventus' dirty coat.

'So... is my lack of higher education going to be a problem? Because I felt it was, before we were together. I know I have a hard time getting on your level with words, and now I feel like you're looking down on me for it.'  

Frode abandoned the horse and turned around to talk through the bars. 'Terje, listen to me. I don't look down on you. Whatever pride I took in my education has been completely levelled by my bad decision-making.'

'Then why say that?'

Frode curled the hand that wasn't holding the brush around one of the cold metal bars and watched Terje's shoulders move from the back. ‘Weaponising my intelligence has always been my only way of defending myself when I got scared of being hurt or rejected. Because it's the only remotely positive trait I possess. So please don't take it to heart. If Espen had ten kroner for every time I called him dumb, he could've comfortably retired before even going to university.'

'Maybe we deserve each other,’ Terje muttered.    

'That's what I used to think whenever you ran your mouth before we dated. I may have called you dumb, but didn't you say I was the ugliest boy you ever saw?'

Terje briefly cleaned his brush on the door before tossing it into the bucket he kept them in. Then he met Frode at the partition. 'I guess I should’ve mentioned that I have a huge weakness for big, ugly boys. Ones with a tragic backstory, especially.' 

'So I'm part of your ever-growing collection of sad creatures in need of rehabilitation.'

Terje kissed him through the bars. 'You're the centrepiece. Don't tell the others.'

'Don't shoot me if I don't make enough progress.'

'For fuck's sake, Frode! Why would you say something like that?' Terje sounded genuinely hurt by that remark, even though Frode meant it as banter.

Frode turned back to the horse. 'Because I'm a horrible person, haven't you figured that out yet?' He ignored Terje’s deliberate, steadying breath behind him and finished brushing the horse. 'I need to go get ready for work.'

Terje didn't say anything when Frode left the barn, but he was there when Frode came down the stairs and grabbed his bag from the coat rack.

'What are you doing tonight?' he asked, clasping Frode's wrist before he could leave.

'Probably something that involves copious amounts of alcohol.' 

'We'll talk later. Keep me in the loop.'

On the road to school, Frode dialled his mother's number.

Marit picked up on the first try, despite being at work. 'What's up, darling?'

'Can we talk? It's about me and Terje.'

'You regret going back to him?'

'Not exactly, but I don't know where to begin to fix things if we're in this for the long haul. We still clash a lot. We both said and did things that are hard to take back, and he's insecure about his lack of education and I'm insecure about everything else, and apparently he thinks my issues are a cute little project for him to fix up –'

Marit gently shushed him. 'The good thing about being in it for the long haul is that you don't need to fix everything at once. Focus on the reasons why you want to be with him, and work on truly forgiving him for the things he can't take back. Maybe that can be enough for now. Maybe in a year you'll both wake up realising that you got over half the things you were insecure about just by getting to know each other and yourselves better.'

'I don't know, mum. I feel like a lasting relationship ought to have a better start than this.'

'That's what I thought when I started dating a much younger man that my boys quite obviously didn't like, but twenty-five years later I'm still convinced that it was worth it. Relationships are never easy, but neither of you shy away from hard work or making sacrifices for each other. Remember that. Remind each other. Talk.'

'I will.'

'You don't choose what kind of battles you get to face in life, but you do get to choose who you have at your side. It's a choice every single day, and a big responsibility, but as long as you still choose each other, the possibilities are endless.'

'Thanks, mum. I really needed to hear that.'

As the students filed into his classroom later, he shot Terje a text.

_Sorry about earlier. I'm an idiot but don’t doubt that I love you. ~ Frode_

_I don't. You talk a lot of shit but last night said enough ;) ~ Terje_

Terje's reply brightened his heavy mood a little when he stood up to write an exercise on the black board, but at the end of the day, the early morning milking and his argument with Terje left him drained. He resolved to limit the support group meeting to an hour today.

Despite that resolution he still stood lecturing the kids on the pitfalls and toxic culture of hook-up apps ninety minutes later.

Someone knocked on his classroom door. Terje stood in the doorway and shot a puzzled look at the gathering. 'I figured you'd be done working by now.'  

'This is extracurricular. Take a seat, we’re almost through.'

Terje drew up a chair next to Frode's, and kissed his temple before sitting down. He looked and smelled very nice for his standards. When his gaze travelled around the circle of students, Eirik sat up a little straighter.    

'So if you decide to try getting dates this way,' Frode continued, 'don't let body image become the sole determiner of your self-worth. You're worthy of love as you are, and on the internet people will be just as savage when you look average as when you work your butt off in the gym. Don't get caught up in perpetuating that sort of negativity, towards yourselves especially. That's all for today, I guess. Next week we'll be talking about the science behind sexual dimorphism, intersex conditions and gender expression.'  

The kids filed out of the room wishing him a good weekend, flocking to their friends to strike up conversations.

'What kind of maths is this?' Terje asked with a grin. 'Calculate your risk of an STD after five Grindr dates?'

Frode elbowed him in the side. 'It's a support group for LGBT students.'

Terje's gaze turned pensive, and he was silent for a moment while Frode gathered up the coffee pots. 'I could've used that as a kid.'

'All we can do is be the person we needed when we were younger, I suppose.'

'That's a good one. I hope you don't mind I barged in like that.'

'Not at all, it's a nice surprise to see you here.'

'Let's go out to dinner somewhere. If you still want to get wasted after we can go to a bar or something.'

Frode shot him a wry look. 'Sounds wonderful.'

Terje grabbed the tea pots and handed Frode his bag with a sheepish grin.

‘Do you know any good places? I haven’t been out in over a decade.’

 

*******

Terje was sweating his way through a supervised workout on the living room floor when his phone rang. He looked up.

'It's Elise,' Frode said, glancing at the screen on the coffee table. From the couch, he pushed Terje's hips down with his foot to improve the form of his planking exercise.

'I'll call her back,' Terje gasped. 'How much longer?'

'Twenty seconds. Push out your heels. Engage your abs and your glutes.'

Terje felt his core muscles begin to shake. 'I hate this.'

'You hate back injuries more.'

Half an hour later, as Terje gratefully drank the water Frode set out for him, Elise showed up with a trailer behind her car. Terje realised with a pang of regret that she was here to pick up Diva, her last remaining horse currently at the farm.

'You reckon she could return to the sport?' he wondered when he accompanied Elise to the barn. 'Or are you going to use her as a brood mare now?'

'Mum and I don't actually like her temperament enough for that. I'm selling her.'

'To whom?'

'Good question. The vet will have to assess her movements again, but even if they are minimally impaired by that burn, there's still the cosmetic aspect. I'll be lucky to get fifty-thousand kroner for her now.'

'I'll give you forty.'

Elise crossed her arms and regarded him. 'What on earth do _you_ want her for?'

Terje held up his hands. 'I got used to having her around. She's a good horse, and Juventus is getting a bit older.'

'He's only nineteen.'

'I figured I could teach Frode to ride. We'll need two horses when he moves in with me.'

Elise rolled her eyes. 'Why didn't you tell me before I dragged a trailer all the way over here?'

'Because I only thought of it just now. Not like I'd been saving up for a new horse or anything.'  

'You don't actually think I'm going to charge you for her, do you? You did enough unpaid work for me lately to have more than earned her back.'

'That's settled, then,' Terje said cheerfully. 'Coffee?'

Back at the house, Frode already struggled with the old-fashioned filters. 

'Nils said he saw you the other day but didn't get the chance to introduce himself to you,' Elise told him with a faint smirk.

Frode cocked his head at Elise. 'When was that?'

'When you were being gross with Terje at the club on Friday night.' 

Outside, Strider suddenly began to bark a loud warning. Nora's higher barks hesitantly joined him. Terje shot Frode a look.

'That sounds serious,' Frode said. 'Better check it out.'

Terje followed him out the front door to see Strider keeping his father at bay with his hackles raised halfway down the path. Frode strode up without hesitation, and called the dogs off. They sat flanking him, still blocking the way. Terje's father pinned him with his gaze.

'We've not met, I believe,' Frode said. 'Frode Stedjeberg.'

'I'm here to talk to Torgeir.'

'It _is_ high time for an apology,' Frode concurred. He waited a moment longer than strictly necessary to step aside.

Advancing on Terje, his father said: 'You've got a lot of nerve, boy. Your mother is beside herself with shame about how you're acting in public these days. We can't show our damn faces anywhere anymore-'

'If that's true at all, ,' Terje protested, ‘it's likely not because I'm gay, but because folks are finally catching on that you two are horrible people.’

'How dare you say that after all we've done for you, you ungrateful faggot?'

Frode stepped between them, facing Terje's father. 'I find your manners lacking. If you're only here to flaunt your bigotry I suggest you leave, _sir_.'

Terje's father opened his mouth in outrage. 'Who are you to tell me to leave my own property?'

Frode didn’t cede an inch of ground. 'If I’m correct, this is no longer your property, and you are not welcome here with this kind of behaviour. Go.'   

With a faint sense of pride at the dignified way Frode handled his father, Terje turned his back and walked away. Behind him, there was a mild scuffle when Frode presumably helped point his father in the direction of the gate. Strider followed his car along the fence, barking his head off.

'I hope you don't mind,' Frode said, catching up with Terje. ‘I hate that word.’

Terje wordlessly shook his head, and took Frode's hand in his.

'Holding your parents accountable is the only thing you can do that might change their attitude in time,' Frode reminded him. 'You have nothing to apologise for.'

'If you say so.' Terje brought Frode's hand up to his face and kissed it. 'Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask  you something. When are you moving in with me?'

 

*******

Winter remained an endless probation period for Terje. The first time he asked Frode to move in and every time after, Frode's answer remained the same. Give me time, give me time. Terje had time, he supposed, but every night Frode spent at his own house, he worried.

Packed snow transformed into a congealed glacial mass everywhere, robbing the second half of the season of its initial charm. By day he toiled in the cold, helping Asbjørn at the farm whenever he wasn't soliciting new work as a farrier now that the Aune's horse population had been decimated, and when the work was done, he tried everything in his power to be a better partner and a better father. He always felt like he was coming up short.  

_Not everything is your responsibility_ , Kat would sometimes tell him unasked, but he felt like it was if he wanted to see improvement on the long term. Next year, the state of affairs would look very different, if it were up to him.

There were definitely times when he wanted to give up on everything, particularly on Frode. Frode heavily leaned on him for support, but didn't commit the way Terje wanted. And though Terje wasn't free of blame, he couldn't help but occasionally want to grab Frode by the shoulders and shake him until he pulled himself together. Sometimes when Frode stayed away for no reason and Terje caught him at unawares at home, brooding and intoxicated and tired beyond his years. Moments like those, he wanted to walk away from that mess and leave Frode to figure it by himself. But he didn't. He sat with Frode to share a bottle of hard liquor and kicked Frode's ass for it in the morning. Frode went back to therapy on his insistence, and whenever he could, Terje cleared his schedule to come along.  

He drew hope from the observation that even though Frode only came over when he was certain he could be on his best behaviour, it eventually happened more often, and he stayed longer. It encouraged Terje to keep asking, and to keep offering more. Frode would move in with him in time, and if that went well and the kids were alright with it, he'd ask Frode to marry him.

The snow turned to sludge in the valley, and disappeared under a careful sun. Spring arrived late but sudden. Terje considered the weather and the quality of his lands when they dried off, and decided to let the cows outside. The farm hands fenced off a path to the nearest pasture. Frode helped, unasked like he often did on Friday mornings before going to school, to open the heavy double doors of the barn that hadn't moved all winter.

It made Terje incredibly happy when Frode puttered about the farm yard in an overall and someone’s spare boots, petting nosy calves and sweeping errant hay. Likewise, it made him less reluctant to get up in the morning when Frode rose with him and made light work of milking with his added pair of hands, or fixed breakfast for when he returned. He hoped Frode was feeling the same, that he was happy too. He didn't ask, knowing that perhaps the answer would disappoint, or the question might pile on needless pressure for Frode to pretend he was doing better than he was, but he wasn't too worried anymore.

He shot Frode a grin over the moving herd when they ushered the excited cows outside. 'This is my favourite part of the job.'

Smelling their freedom, the cows in the lead broke into stiff trots, then ran and leapt when their hooves touched grass.

Frode smiled at him in wonder. 'I remember this.'

'From way back, you mean?'

Frode glanced out through the barn doors in the direction of the farm that used to be his father's.

Terje steered him along by the shoulders when the stragglers eventually found their way to the frolicking herd. A wide path of dirty hoof prints stained the previously clean concrete all the way to the pasture.

Asbjørn closed the metal gate. 'Coffee time, Uncle Terje?'

'We'll be right there,' Terje called back. 'Just going to look at them for a minute.'

He sat on the gate to enjoy the view of the cows lowering their heads to the fresh, green grass. The day was overcast but the sky did not threaten rain, and the breeze was just right; neither cold nor wet.

Frode leaned on the gate next to him. 'I dunno what it is about this place that always makes me feel so at home.'

'It's me,' Terje joked. 'Because you love me.' He bent down from his perch to plant a firm kiss on the top of Frode's head and let his hand rest between Frode's shoulder blades. 'I wish you'd move in with me. I promise it would be good.'

'Okay.'

'For real?'

Frode stood up, wrapping an arm around Terje's waist. 'Yeah.'

Terje jumped down from the gate and grabbed his hand to pull him along. 'Let's go see where you want your stuff to go.'

'You'll have to make room for my books and my computer somewhere. Oh, and my coffee machine.'

'Maybe you can let your cabin out furniture and all if you don't want to sell it yet.'

They forgot about coffee, passing the kitchen by to see if Frode's entire desk would fit in Terje's cluttered office.

'Perhaps if we get rid of this cabinet,' Terje speculated. 'I don't even know why I have it anymore, or what's in there. Now that everything's digital...' 

He pulled open the metal doors and took out a random box. Frode peered into it when Terje opened it. It was nothing but dated files. Government decrees about his yearly quota and contracts with dairy companies.

'We’ll figure it out on the weekend. I have to get cleaned up for work.' Frode squeezed Terje's shoulder and left the office.

Terje pulled one box after another from the cabinet. He could scan all these files and free up enough room for Frode to be able to get his work done in here. The move was as good a reason as any to get organised. He could start with tossing stuff he'd never need again for certain, such as the records of farm hands that had worked for him years ago. If it would have been up to him he wouldn't have them at all, but Mia seemed to have made meticulous files on each of them, photos included. Terje leafed through the folders with indifference mostly, and a grin here and there when he remembered employees he'd liked. That's when he came across a name and a face that filled him with a queasy anger that not even time had been able to diminish. He still stood staring at it when Frode returned to say goodbye.

'Who is that?'

'The worst farm hand I ever had. He liked to hurt the animals when he thought he could get away with it.'

'What did you do?'

'I gave him a beating and kicked him out. Mia always said I should've gone to the police.'

'She was probably right. Hurting animals can be a sign of a psychopath,' Frode mentioned carefully.

'What are you saying?' Terje turned to him, searching Frode's grave expression. 'You think he would've gone on to become a serial killer like on TV?'

'Yeah. Or… you know, mutilating cattle and torturing and killing them, and then setting fire to stuff to cover it up...'

'Shit,' Terje said.

'You had that hoodie, right?' Frode studied the file a brief moment. 'Detective Haugland might like to take a look at this and see if he can put two and two together.'

'I'll take care of it,' Terje promised. He didn't have much faith in the odds, but Frode had a point. 'What time will you be home?'

'Depends which home you mean.'

'This one. No backtracking.' Terje pulled him closer by the lapels of his blazer to kiss him goodbye. 'You live here now.'   


	26. Epilogue

Amidst the milling pupils and parents, Terje searched for his own children with Frode trailing him through the throng. On the other side of the school yard he spotted Mia and Harald, who stood talking to Jakob’s teacher. Once he locked his eyes on them, his children weren’t that hard to find anymore. He took Mia aside for a moment.

‘What did you think of Emma’s speech?’ Mia asked.

‘To be honest… it was hilarious. Did you help her with it?’

Mia laughed. ‘A little bit. Are you guys heading off?’

‘Yeah, is it alright if I take Emma and Jakob now?’

‘Sure. Have a great day!’

Terje gave her a kiss and glanced around. Jakob had taken Strider from Frode and walked over to his friends with the big dog at his side. When Terje called after him to come back, Emma quickly stuffed the paper with her speech in Mia’s bag and took his hand.

Frode bent to kiss Mia in greeting in turn. Straightening up, he caught Harald’s disparaging gaze. When the two of them shook hands in a forced show of politeness, Frode’s painfully hard grip was evident in the way Harald averted his eyes when they let go.  
Before today, Terje had never seen Frode in black. In bunad, he looked severe and uncompromising. If Harald knew what was good for him, he’d keep his opinions to himself. Frode needed little incentive to lash out verbally or physically whenever anyone had anything to say about his relationship with Terje, and Terje loved him for it. Even months after coming out, others’ opinions made him feel vulnerable at times, but Frode was always at his side now, ready to wage war against the world for him.  
In this instance, however, Terje thought it better to leave before they’d have the chance to get confrontational. They needed Mia on their side. He glanced at his phone to check the time.

_Message request from: Anita Hansen_

Terje’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly accepted the request.

 _Dear Terje,_  
_Word reached me that you’ve been having a lot of trouble with mother and father, and I was wondering whether you have anyone left in the family you can talk to. It might seem strange to you that I’m contacting you all of a sudden after all these years, but I’m concerned about you, and I miss my little brother. Shall we meet up sometime?_  
_Love, Anita_

‘Frode,’ Terje said shakily. ‘Look. My sister…’

Frode laid a hand on his shoulder, and peered at the screen Terje tilted towards him.

‘Anita messaged you? That’s great! Are you happy to hear from her?’

Struck speechless for a moment, Terje kept holding up his phone and staring at it.

Frode gave him a soft pat on the butt. ‘Come on. You’ll have plenty of time to write back in the car.’

‘Yeah, let’s go. Your family’s waiting for us.’

The kids said their goodbyes to Mia and Harald, and followed Frode to where he parked his car. Jakob let Strider into the boot of Frode’s Volvo while Frode held open the door for Emma and made sure her dress didn’t get stuck. Terje sat down in the passenger seat still somewhat dumbfounded. He grabbed his phone again when Frode merged onto the E6 northbound.

 _Dear Anita,_  
_I’m so glad you wrote. I’ve wondered where you were and whether you were okay so often. Lars, Silje and I missed you so much, but we really understand why you couldn’t bear to stay. I actually thought about taking a leaf out of your book more than once. I’d love to see and talk to you soon. Have you got time to come to the farm? You won’t run into mum and dad there now that I live there with Frode (my boyfriend). I hope to see you soon._  
_Terje_

Frode rested a hand on his thigh and gave it an encouraging squeeze when Terje smiled to himself after clicking send.

The twelve o’clock news came on on the radio while Emma and Jakob tried to outbid each other in how many hotdogs and how much ice cream they were going to eat today. After the usual reports about the 17th of May celebrations throughout the country, suddenly, there was the news Terje had been hoping to hear for weeks.

_“…. The Lillehammer police has been carrying out arrests pertaining to the cattle killings that have been plaguing in the region for the last two years. After the butchery and the subsequent arson at the stables of former show jumping jockey Louise Aune, a tip came in that has led to the discovery of a network…”_

‘Finally,’ Frode said with satisfaction.

‘Shh,’ Terje hushed him.

_“… the confiscation of the computer of a twenty-three year old inhabitant of the Lillehammer municipality. The court case will probably commence later this year. On to the weather forecast. In the north…”_

‘Did they say there was a DNA-match?’ Terje asked.

‘Yeah, but I didn’t hear with whom.’

‘Because you were talking right through the broadcast.’

Frode shrugged, flashing his crooked smile. ‘There’ll be a new one in an hour.’

Terje read a short article about the investigation on the news app on his phone while Frode navigated through town. He welcomed the distraction, because the closer they got to their destination, the more Terje worried whether his kids would like meeting Frode’s family.

Somewhere in the crowd downtown, they ran into a cluster of familiar gingers. Espen, who looked like he straight-up stepped out of the nineteenth century in bunad, took away any doubts Terje had by taking Emma and Jakob under his wing and providing them and the ginger toddler on his hand with a steady stream of ice cream.

‘Happy constitution day,’ Marit said, greeting Terje with open arms. ‘I’m glad you’re all here. How are things?’

Terje gave her a tight hug, feeling again like the seven year-old boy who wished his mother was more like Mrs. Solheim from across the road, who was soft and sweet, and gave him snacks and let him help. Except that after three decades, he might still get his wish, if Frode would accept his proposal in due time. ‘Happy to see you, Marit. We’re doing just fine. Nothing but good news today!’

**Author's Note:**

> As always, your feedback gives me life. Drop me a line with your thoughts!


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